Pirates of the Caribbean: The Aztec's Retribution
by Failed Paradise
Summary: Rachelle hasn't been near the sea since her friend was raped and killed by pirates. But now, betrothed to Norrington, she must sail to the Caribbean. Of course, Jack Sparrow and his crew just happen to step in and turn everything upside-down.
1. Prologue

**Pirates of the Caribbean: The Aztec's Retribution**

**Disclaimers:**

We don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean: the curse of the black pearl, because it hasn't come out on DVD yet. We aren't profiting off this story either: if we were, that would be illegal and we wouldn't want to do anything illegal now, would we?

***A Sukkumbus Mika(2) Joint (effort)***

Together we make!  Failed Paradise . . . awwww . . .

A note (well, technically some): there are absolutely no Mary Sue-isms in here.  The women are realistic for their time, or as realistic as we've damn well made them, lol.  Jack has not been cleaned up nor will he be – the dirtier the better, I say.  Gods, whoever wants to clean him up completely takes away from precisely why he's so sexy . . . then again, I'm a very strange girl, and so is Mika, lol.  We're working very hard on this story and (like any of my other works, and I have a feeling Mika's as well) is like nothing else around.  I COULD be wrong, I'm generalising, but I do hope you guys enjoy.  Because we're having a blast writing it (except for the pains in my hands now because I have all sorts of problems from typing too much :P  oopsie) and I hope everyone has a blast reading it.  

Toods, Suk

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_Prologue:_

The sea met fiercely with the rocks, sending salt spray on the two girls, dangling their legs over the rough edges.  They knew it wasn't proper, but it felt so nice against their bare skin, skin that was ghastly pale, almost never met by the sun's gaze.  It was a treat to be able to feel the elements crashing against them, like it was with the boulders.  There were birds in the air, mostly seagulls, as it was at every port, every shoreline around the world – or known world.  They sat in silence, listening to the call of the airborne creatures, feeling the water misting against their legs, not wanting to breach this perfection with simple, foolish words.

But it had to be done.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Jennifer looked at Rachelle, eyes firm, expression resolute.  This was odd for a girl her age, but she was determined and nothing would stand in her way.  Determination, again, odd for her age.  However, she knew enough to not let _this happen to her._

"Yes."

"Betrothal is not so bad – he is a fine young gentleman."

"He is _ten_ years older than me!  He is eighteen!"

Rachelle worried her lip, knowing her friend had a point.  Would she really want to be matched to a man who seemed so much older than herself?  The answer was simple enough: no.

"But do you really believe that running away on a merchant's vessel is the answer?"

Kicking her feet in quiet speculation, Jennifer thought for a moment.  She nodded slowly, her mind made up.  

"Yes."

"Your father will beat you if you are caught, you know this."

At these words the young girl seemed to scowl.  "My father would beat me even if I did not try to escape."  A few pebbles were thrown into the frothy waves breaking beneath them.

"You might get hurt!"

"That," Jennifer said slowly, "is a chance I am more than willing to take."

Slightly disheartened Rachelle murmured, "But we will never see each other again."

"Never say never," she responded with a little smile.  "You can come with me."

"What?"  A grin lightened up Rachelle's face for a moment at the thought of running off with her best friend, to a life of adventure . . . "Perhaps I cou –"

"_Rachelle Annabelle!_"

Both girls turned their heads to look in the direction of the shouting.  Rachelle got up unhappily and cast her friend a look.

"I have to go," she stated simply, gathering her skirts to run up to her father.

Jennifer just nodded and continued to throw pebbles.  "Then go." 

"Are you still going to . . ." she trailed off, looking from the Heartwell manor to her friend and back again.  Her father had come to pick her up; this was her only chance to leave, to stay friends with Jennifer.

"Yes."  She picked at the lint on her skirts and dropped it down with the pebbles after rolling it between her fingers.

Rachelle stared at her friend, still debating this flight in her mind.  A life of adventure: why, they only read about it in books!  It would certainly relieve the monotony of daily life.

"Jennifer, I think –"

"_Rachelle Annabelle Clairington!_"

"I cannot!" she said in a slightly panicked voice, skirts rising higher in preparation to run, and run fast.  Her eyes, however, betrayed her true emotions.  Jennifer could tell that her offer was tempting, although not quite plausible.  At least for her friend.

She dragged herself up off the rough, grey rocks and stood before Rachelle.

"I will miss you," she said softly, trying not to cry.  Tears shone in her eyes then broke and rolled down her pale cheeks.  Gathering her friend in a hug she begged, "Never forget me."

Rachelle giggled through her tears, choking on them.  "Never say never."

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I know it's nothing yet, but this is important to the story, which you will figure out . . . 

Sukkumbus


	2. Chapter I – Lo lad

_Chapter I – Lo . . . lad_

Flames rose higher into the sky, licking the inky blackness, meeting the shining stars.  He glanced up, always finding it strange how the sky was a different colour right around fire.  With a shrug, not really finding that quite important enough to occupy his time, he rolled a cigarette and leaned towards the nearest wooden structure.  Drawing on it, the end lit up and he puffed, inhaling.

Then he coughed, taking the rolled tobacco out of his mouth and giving it a baneful glare.

Screams greeted his ears, but he ignored them.  They were just another part of the routine.  A pirate jostled him on his way by, a girl slung over his shoulder, sobbing and carrying on as if it were the end of the world.

Well, perhaps for her it was, but that didn't concern Michael.

"Watch where yer goin' ye scurvy dog!" he shouted, jamming the cigarette in the corner on his mouth.

The crew member turned and studied the young man.  "Sorry Cutthroat sir – but aren't ye gonna get one fer yerself?"

Michael snorted then spat on the ground.  "Why bother?  Slim pickins after you fools are done wit 'em."

"Right-o sir."  And he hustled off, the first mate seeming to be in a right awful mood and not wanting to provoke him he just continued on, the girl still carrying on.

"Monkey!"

A spider monkey came scurrying through wreckage, seemingly flame retardant, a bag hanging from his mouth.

"Good Monkey."  He took the bag and opened it.  "You know, ye could have done better.  Git outa here."

Monkey sulked and ran down Michael's body, then off through the dirty streets.  The first mate pulled out the few rings and coins Monkey had brought him, then slipped them on, pocketing the coins.  His hands drifted back up his front, picking off a few pieces of lint on the way and rolling them between his fingers.  It wasn't the greatest amount of riches, but he couldn't risk actually going into these buildings and looting.  The captain relied on him too much and death would not be a wise career move.

Diamonds and rubies sparkled in the glinting firelight.  He whipped his head around, watching the festivities.  The men enjoyed ransacking every shop and home they came across, not to mention dragging women out of these places and raping them right on the streets.  Some weren't as courageous and kept the "fun" to the bedrooms.

Without turning around or looking anywhere but down the burning street, Michael said clearly, "And why ain't ye doin' nothin'?"

The cabin boy, fresh out of England, shifted uncomfortably.  "I am, uh, I am still becoming used to . . ." he gesticulated vaguely, "this."

Michael snorted and spat on the ground, a habit he suspected came from the tobacco.  "Ye'll git used to it alright.  Either that or stay the cap'n's errand boy yer whole life, matie."

"You really expect me to do," he pointed to where one of the crew was raping a screaming, thrashing woman, "that?"

"Yeah."  He was flustered for a moment.  "Ye don' _have_ ta, but ye know, twould help ye if ye became like the crew."  He gave him a wicked grin.  "Or ye could be a eunuch."

"Ah."  Giving the first mate a careful study and backing away a few steps, he nearly shouted over the screams and distance, "I suppose you have a point!"

Throwing the nearly dead cigarette into the nearest building as he began a jaunty, yet relaxed walk, "Of course I do, Thomas."  He snickered as he stopped and turned after making sure his men were all fine, and headed back to the ship.  His worn black boots scuffed along the street, which almost matched, eager to get some sleep.  Or drink.  If he could get into the captain's private stash (which was enough to keep a town going for a few months) he would be set for at least tonight.  That was if Jack hadn't already drunk it all. 

"Monkey!" Michael roared, waiting for Monkey to appear.  A tugging at his clothes and chittering in his ear – along with the slight pressure on his shoulder – let him know that Monkey was with him.  A small sack was banged on the top of his head a few times until he finally grabbed it away, grumbling.  Monkey grinned and laughed, then started playing with his tail.  Shaking his head slightly, wondering how he had been damned to this animal, Michael continued on his way.  He could see the ship now, the Pearl in port, foreboding to all who would approach.  After all, they knew what was happening in town if _they were there._

"Rum, matie?"

Michael jumped slightly at the sudden sound of Jack's voice.  He whipped out his pistol and pointed it at his groin.

"What," he said through clenched teeth, "did I say about poppin' up outa nowhere?"

Jack grinned, swaying on the spot as gold teeth flashed.  A bottle was lifted in merriment then finished off in less than a second.  "Ne'er do it when sober.  And as ye see, matie, I don't fill the requirements, savvy?"  Another grin.

If Michael's eyes were to become any more narrowed, they'd be closed.  "That's _not what I meant."  But he retracted the pistol and put it back to his hip._

"Sure, sure," Jack said absentmindedly, peering into the bottle as if wondering where his rum went.  The kohl under his eyes (identical to the kohl around Michael's eyes) would have made him look quite mysterious, if it were not for the absolute bewilderment etched in his features.  "Wha –"  He looked curiously up at Michael who silently handed him a fresh bottle, pulled out of his layers of clothing.

"'Ere, cap'n."

"Ah, thanks lo . . . lad." 

Michael's brow arched.  "Careful there Jack."

He sniggered and cracked open the bottle, swigging half the bottle down, some of it spilling down his face.  "Damn."  He wiped his chin with the back of his hand.  "Course I'm careful lo . . . lad.  I'm cap'n Jack Sparrow!"  He lifted his arm again in celebration and nearly toppled over.

"Okay there captain," Michael said dubiously, taking a few quick steps to him and grabbing his arm.  "Don't concuss yerself.  Again."

He snorted and waved the bottle dismissively.  Then his eyes rose up to the taller man's.  "Care to join me, lo . . . lad?"

A similar smirk to the captains appeared on the first mate's face.  "I'm headin' back to the ship, sir."

Another snort and dismissive wave. 

"I'm headin' to bed," he tacked on, as if that explained something.

"Join me fer a drink first then, lo . . . lad."  His eyes scanned the events on the streets and the sounds from the ruined buildings.

"If ye would join me on the ship, I suppose a few drinks are fine," Michael relented.

"Fine fine.  I'm sure the crew knows what they're doin' anyhow."  He turned and swaggered back towards the Black Pearl, Michael following a half-step behind.  

"_We kindle and char, inflame and ignite, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho_.  _We burn up the city, we're really a fright, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho_."  Michael did a jig around the room, rum in hand, belting out the song at the top of his lungs.  Jack sat on the edge of his bed, drinking and trying to remember the words.  He first squinted at the floor, but couldn't find the lyrics there, so looked to his first mate with a puzzled expression on his face.  Then he took a long drink of rum.

"_We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.  We're devils and black sheep,_" at this point Michael broke off and stared at Jack.  "C'mon mate, ye know this part!"

Jack's eyes lit up and he grinned as they chorused: "_And really bad eggs!  Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!"_

Michael fell to the floor, drinking happily in a warm haze of dance and alcohol.  Mostly alcohol.  He slopped some rum down his face and clothes, making Jack jump up and fall over.

From the floor, he roared, "You jus' wasted me rum!"

Arching his brows, then leering at his captain, Michael shot back, "What, ye wanna lick it off, cap'n?"

Jack pulled himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the fact that he had himself spilt a puddle of rum onto his floor in his haste to yell at Michael.  He stood carefully, and put up his finger, addressing Michael again.  "That," he said slowly, "was uncalled foooooor!"

Michael winced as the captain hit the floor with a thud, having slipped in his own rum.  He got up, towering over the captain.

"Actually, cap'n, I think you spilling that much rum was what was uncalled for."

Jack just glowered at him then shot out his hand.  "'Elp me up, ye stinkin' maggot."

Grabbing the captain by the wrist and yanking him up, he still said, "Why should I bother?"

Wiping down his clothes, he scowled up at Michael.  Then he stood up straight, still looking up at Michael, eyes glinting.

He took a drink of rum.  "Yer tall, lo . . . lad."

Michael's eyebrows rose higher, threatening to leave his forehead.  "Ye just figured that out, matie?"  He sat the captain on the bed again and handed him another bottle of rum, pressing it into his free hand.  "Ye had better drink more, cap'n.  Yer startin' ter think."

Shooting him a murderous glare, Jack drank from both bottles at once.

"Easy there, cap'n."  Michael sat beside him with his own rum, trying to ignore the slight lurching of the ship.

"The waves er rough t'night, lo . . . lad," Jack mumbled as he collapsed back on the bed, splashing rum onto his coat.  "Damn it."

Michael stood then and shakily put his rum onto the small table by the captain's bed.  "I should check on deck then, cap'n."  He stumbled to the door and grabbed the doorframe to steady himself.  "If it'sa storm, I'll gitch ye."  Walking along the wall to keep himself upright, the first mate inched his way along to the deck.  Looking up at the sky he wobbled on the spot and had to take a few steps to the side to keep his balance.

The sky was no longer a clear, twinkling black.  It was a dark grey, and appeared quite angry.  

"Cap'n!  Storm approachin'!"


	3. Chapter II – Leaving Port

_Chapter II – Leaving Port_

Her necklace felt cool against her collar, her even cooler hand pressed against the black pearl.  She was looking out to the horizon, the ship they were to board rising and falling gently in the waves.  It was astounding how something as simple as water could lift a massive ship so effortlessly.  The sails flapped gently in the warm breeze as waves crashed against rocks down below.  Seagulls cawed and called, swooping about overhead.

She shut her eyes and clenched the pearl in her hand.  Never did she think that she would see the sea again.

_Never say never._  That brought a tear to her eye.  She didn't return to the water, wasn't _allowed to go near it, after what happened to her friend.  Her mother had been destroyed; everyone who knew the Heartwells', and even people who did not, offered their services._

But it was too late.  Jennifer had been kidnapped by pirates, raped and thrown overboard.  It was a fate too horrible for anyone, let alone a child.  The town had been crushed, ashamed that a child had suffered so horribly.

And Rachelle had felt alone, isolated and empty ever since she got the news.  No longer could she hope that one day she would see her friend again.  That suddenly she would appear with all sorts of wild stories, regaling everyone with her adventures.  But along with that came the guilt every friend would feel.  If she had only stopped Jennifer from leaving, if she had only kept her there another day, her life could have been spared.

She brushed away a tear, willing herself to set her mind on more pleasant things.

"Ah, it is not the last time you will see England, daughter."

Looking up at her father, she gave him a weak, watery smile.  "I know, father."  She let him think that she was crying for her home, that she was becoming homesick already.  Standing resolutely, gathering her skirts about herself primly, her mind cleared.  Well, if Jennifer could not complete her adventures, she'd have to do them for her.

What were best friends for, after all?  Not even death could separate them, when they remembered.

Her father was still talking.

"There's a good love.  I was sure that the mention of your future husband would instil some strength in you."  He returned the weak smile.

"But father, the governor's daughter was supposed to marry him, was she not?"

His face went a slight, splotchy red.  "Well, she decided that a _blacksmith_ was more of her station."  Lip curling, he snorted impolitely.  "Really, how the governor allowed the marriage is beyond our comprehension."

"But were they not in love?" she asked sweetly, a slight dreamy quality in her expression.

Lord Clairington gave his daughter a sympathetic gaze.  "Love, daughter, has nothing to do with marriage.  I am sure with time you will learn to love the Commodore."

"Of course, father," she said obediently, smoothing down her skirts, looking down.  Then her eyes rose to her father's.  "But are all these infantry really necessary?"

His eyes hardened almost cruelly.  "Pirates are a danger.  Surely you have not forgotten what happened to your friend."

Shutting her eyes, she whispered, "Sometimes I wish I could, father."

"Then you know perfectly well that the soldiers are a necessity.  We do not want pirates to get to you.  We have all learned our lesson, I must say, and unfortunately, it was in the worst way."

The sounds of perfect marching were beginning to grate on Rachelle's nerves.  There was a crisp stomp behind her, letting her know that men had arrived to escort her onto the ship. 

"Remember, you are a Clairington."

She nodded, understanding every implication in that simple sentence.  Kissing her father chastely in farewell, the men then led her onto the ship, in perfect formation.  Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, wishing at least one of them would stumble to cease the uniform racket, she was shocked when one did just that.  The troops stopped walking, allowing their comrade to get back into form.

With a sigh, she boarded the ship, hoping that her adventure would be more entertaining than perfect lockstep.

Rachelle gazed around the ship.  It was much bigger than she would have first thought.  The sails were, although up, not ready.  But a call to deck and there was a flourish of activity, the sails being raised to their proper positions.

"Come with us, Miss," one of the soldiers said clearly.

"Can I not stay here?  It seems ever so exciting."

"You must go down into your room, Miss."

She frowned at him, but allowed the men to take her to her quarters, a relatively large cabin.  There was a nice bed in the corner, with a table and chair nailed to the floor.  There was also a wardrobe, also nailed down.  Her possessions were brought in and put to the side, eight crates in all.

Heading over she checked on her things, making sure it was all there and in perfect condition.  She heard the click of heels and marching out of her room.  Then she slammed the door shut, to drown them all out.  That was extraordinarily annoying.

Taking her parasols out of one of the crates, she laid them out on her bed and examined them carefully.  She chose her almost white pink-peach parasol, which matched her dress perfectly.  The lace around the edges was nearly the same as the lace on her skirts, giving her a complete look.  Resting it on her shoulder, careful not to muss up her ringlets of red hair, she went daintily over to the mirror.  As usual, she was pale and her makeup was flawless.  The parasol would help keep the sun off her because she did want to see what running a ship was like.

When she was sure that the corridor was clear, she opened the door, wincing when it creaked.  Peering out into the darkness, she noticed a shaft of light coming from the stairs metres off.  A few lanterns, although unlit, hung every few feet.  Perhaps they were lit at night.  Taking a few tentative steps out into the corridor, she carefully made her way to the stairs.  She could hear the sea crashing and people talking.  Everything was running smoothly, so she figured that no one could object to her taking a walk.  They really could not expect a lady of her age to stay cooped up all day when there was so much excitement, so many new things for her to experience, could they?

Taking the steps one by one, she made it to the deck and looked around.  Immediately there were the two troops on either side of her, making her jump.

"Johnson, Christopher!  You men are extremely quick," she said, sounding stern as she held her hand over her heart.  

They nodded sharply and accompanied her as she strolled about the deck, twirling her parasol idly.  

Why did she need them on the ship?  Surely there was nothing to get her there?

"Sirs, I do hope you realise that pirates are not going to materialise on the ship.  I am quite sure that if we are attacked, you will have more than adequate time to leave your stations and protect me."

They stopped in mid step and stared vacantly at her, mouths gaping, definitely not used to women addressing them so sharply and intelligently.

She cleared her throat delicately.  "Well, I am only stating the obvious fact that pirates are not going to drop out of the sky.  You _will have time to protect me."_

Both men looked up at the sky, now worried about another means of onslaught.  The sky, they hadn't even considered that.

Rolling her eyes as she shook her head, she didn't want to bother trying to further explain the fact that they were fine.  It just took too much energy.

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Hey hey!  (this is a message from Sukkumbus)  How are ya liking the story?  Mika(2) and I are working our brains out.  I'm just about DEAD from writing all this . . . you guys should see what we have in store!  Man, there are some really funny parts later on.  *giggles*  hehehe . . .

Anyway, I know there isn't that much to review so far, and Gods, where Mika(2) and I are, the main plot is just beginning, so there won't be major plot for you to review for awhile . . . but still, do you think you guys could drop of some reviews?  I mean, look at all those other stories with bloody hundreds of reviews – I think we deserve a few (and yes, this story actually has a plot!  *gasp*)

Thanks bunches,

Toodles,

Sukkumbus (and toodles from Mika[2], too).

(PS: I actually try and use proper terminology for the parts of the ship through the story, so if you find any words you don't understand or something, just ask and I'll explain, k?  We've actually done some studying on ships to get things as accurate as possible for a fanfic . . .)


	4. Chapter III – Storm

_Chapter III - Storm_

"Well whaterya waitin' fer!" Jack roared, swinging his bottles of rum around, stumbling about the deck.  "Git all hands on deck!"

"All hands on deck!" Michael hollered over the winds, which had just begun whipping violently.  "Git the sails down!"

"Captain!" Thomas shouted, "could we not use the wind to get out of the storm?"

Michael stomped up to Thomas and took him by the scruff of his clothes, lifting him up to eye-level.  Thomas attempted to touch the deck with the toes of his boots, but he couldn't reach.

"Did ye just argue a direct order, matie?"

"N-no sir."

"Ye know what, Thomas?  I like ye, and since yer new 'ere, I'll let ye in on somethin'.  This type of storm will toss our ship and reduce her to nothin'.  We canna out run it, mate.  We 'aveta get the sails down an' wait 'er out."

"Y-yes sir."

"Good lad."  He dropped Thomas to the floor then went over to Jack at the helm, who was looking from his hands to the wheel.  Then he thrust out his hand, giving the nearly empty bottle of rum over to Michael, who took it silently.  The captain then downed most of the other bottle, and handed that over as well.

"I'll keep her," here he hiccupped, "in control jus' in case.  Make sure the lads," another hiccup, "git her ready."

"Aye, sir."  Michael drank the rest of the rum and tossed the bottles overboard, helping the crew and giving orders when they were needed.  He coughed and spluttered as a massive wave crashed and broke against the ship, hitting him and the men in the face, sending most of them reeling.  Half spit up salt water as they crawled back to their spots.

Shaking his blonde hair free of excess water, Michael tugged on a rope, the fibre digging into his hands, cutting him.  But he didn't notice because another wave rolled right over the vessel.  Anyone who wasn't holding onto something was swept into the side of the ship.  Most, like Michael, held onto ropes and masts for dear life, the water trying desperately to drag them along.  Five men were sprawled out, against the side, groaning.

"Git up ye scurvy dogs or ye'll dance with my knife!" Michael snarled, putting more fear into them from him than the sea.  They scrambled up and made their way over, following his voice because it was nearly pitch out.  It was almost impossible to see, nearly impossible to hear because of the wind and water.  Michael finished tying off the rope, then stared at his bloody, burning hands.  He washed them off in the layer of water on the deck then patted them down on his clothing.  Looking down as his hands made wet sounds with his wetter clothes, he figured that there was really no point.

"Sir, this rope is tangled!" one of the crew screamed from the foremast.

Michael barely heard him on the wind, but was sure of what he said and that was never good.  Rushing over, slipping and sliding through water and past the crew, he slammed right into the screaming man.  They nearly went over, but clasped their hands on the rope.  Bad idea.  The knots and tangles tightened and Michael's hands ripped up more.  He winced then slowly climbed up the rope, doing his duty and fighting through the pain.  Swinging gently, he jumped to the mast and clung on, slipping down a few inches.

"Cap'n!" he screeched at the top of his lungs.

Jack looked up dazedly, thinking that he had been called.  He wasn't too sure on that, but when a crack of lightning lit up the sky and ship, he noticed Michael clinging onto the foremast with all his might.

"Hang in there, lo . . . laddie!"

Getting no help from the captain, Michael figured that it was up to him and he could make his own decisions without permission.  After all, it was to save the Pearl.  Reaching up with his hands then digging his fingers into the wood, soft from years of use and abuse, he dragged his legs up gingerly.  Then he gripped the mast with his legs and reached his arms up again.  He made it almost all the way up the foremast and fell back, arching his back as his legs held on desperately.  The crew beneath him stopped their frantic work and stared up as lighting bolt after lighting bolt lit up the sky, allowing them to see these acrobatics.  

Michael diligently worked the tangles, legs becoming weaker, feeling himself about to slip.  But the knot was almost undone, the ropes were almost free . . .

"Cap'n!  I can't get this done!"

"Keep working lo . . . lad!"

"I need help!"

"I can see that!"

His legs began burning like his bleeding hands.  Wincing and forcing himself to stay suspended in the air, he continued to work.

"You halfwit!" Jack screamed, "yer gonna git yerself killed!"

"I'm almost –" Michael paused when he realised he was screaming.  Loudly.  There was complete silence now.  No wind.  No crashing waves.  The ship was barely bobbing on the water.  That was enough shock to make him nearly fall.  "Done."

Jack looked quite alarmed.  "_Hit the deck!" he screamed._

"HIT THE DECK?  HOW THE HELL DO I HIT THE DECK?!" Michael shouted back, still hanging from the near top of the foremast.  Looking down he realised that all the men, and the captain, had dove down and were gripping onto something for life.  Jack had his arm around the wheel column, his free hand firmly on his head, holding his hat down.

Eyes going wide in alarm, Michael pulled out his knife and hacked at the knot, knowing that Jack would probably kill him for this, but it had to be done.  The rope fell free and now he had no way of getting off the mast.

"Oh shit."

Looking down once more then straightening up, Michael knew he had three seconds to make it to the deck.  Tops.  Head rush making him slightly dizzy, he forced himself to think.  Taking a deep breath he slid down the mast halfway, then dropped down to the deck between two men, nearly crushing them.  As he hit the deck and felt his ribs crack the storm crashed into the ship.  They were thrown about, but everyone was holding on, so they were just swept around.  Except Michael.  He rolled along the deck, growling in pain, then smacked into the bulwark.  Gasping for air and getting a lungful of water, he spluttered as the ship was tossed the other way, almost keeling over.  He rolled back along the deck, over the two men he almost hit, and right into the foremast.

"Ohhh . . ." With his last ounce of strength and working on instinct to survive, he grabbed onto a rope, trying to breathe.  The crew were still skidding along the deck, their screams and calls unable to be heard over the storm.  But they could be seen, eyes wide in fear, mouths open in their silent screams each time lightning flashed.

The ship was tossed again and Michael ignored the biting of his hands and held on for all he was worth.  He began skidding with the rest of the crew, then kept going, back into the side.  Yelping as the rope continued over the edge of the ship, they were all thrown back the other way.  Letting go of the rope he had cut earlier, he slid across the deck yet again, luckily between the masts but was heading for the other side.

A hand shot out of the black chaos and grabbed his wrist.  He clasped onto his helper's arm and just hung there, trying to avoid breathing in water, coughing and choking as they were tossed back and forth.

Five minutes later, when all the men were exhausted, a shaft of light peeked through black clouds.  Jack opened his eye a crack, then took his hat off, wrung it out, and put it back on his head.  Then he stood behind the wheel, grinning insanely.

"Well laddies I think the storm is over."

Everyone began dragging themselves up, nursing their wounds; all except for Michael who couldn't move.  He looked weakly up at his saviour and was staring at the scholar who had joined their ranks.  The cabin boy who was probably older than himself.

Thomas stared back, unable to move because of Michael's death grip.  And because the blood oozing down his arm was somewhat disconcerting.

"Sir?"

Michael just groaned, wincing.  He reached up gingerly with his other hand to try and get himself up and noticed Thomas go green.

"What is it boy," he said through gritted teeth, barely able to breath, hardly able to speak.

"Your, your hand, sir."

Michael brought his hand slowly to his cloudy eyes.  Blinking the salt and water out of them for a second, his vision cleared.  He stared at his hand and immediately knew why the cabin boy was green.  Not only was his hand rope burned and cut up, but it was nearly totally brown from imbedded wood.  And he figured that his other hand was pretty similar.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he groaned.  "I'm gonna be sick."

The sounds of painful retching made Jack look around his crew.  They were all pretty much the same height, which worried him.  Where was Michael?  He stepped down from the bridge to the deck and followed the sounds.  Not to mention that a circle had been formed with pirates looking at someone in pity.

They stepped aside as the captain showed up, stepping forth.  His eyes widened as he watched Michael heave, still clutched to Thomas who looked ready to start vomiting for himself.

What Jack found astounding was that none of the men were laughing at the puking and even more astounding was that tears were pouring down the young man's face and no one said a word about it.  They all knew he wasn't crying – the force of his heaving would make any man's eyes water, but nonetheless, it was still astonishing for pirates to not mock everything they could.

"Get him up," Jack said softly, sounding unlike himself.  No one noticed and two of the crew gently lifted Michael off the deck.  He still hadn't let go of Thomas and they pried his fingers, one by one, off the cabin boy's arm.  Then they took Michael across the deck, to the stairs leading down to the hull.  Jack followed behind, his duty as a captain to make sure his first mate would be alright.  And to congratulate him on helping save the ship.

They heard something rolling along the floor beneath them.  One of the men stopped, bent over, about to open the hatch.  Then they heard that thing shatter.  He opened the hatch and peered down.

"Uh sir?"

Jack looked to him.

"That uh, was the last bottle of rum hittin' the steps, sir."

His eyes went wide and he looked as pale as Michael.  "The rum!"

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Sukkumbus: Poor Jack.  First his first mate smashed up, then the last of the rum.  It's so sad (*snicker, snicker*).  Just to inform you guys: We have about 30 chapters written (in less than a week, go us!) so don't worry, there is more story to come.  And we already have the beginning of the sequel planned.  So if you like this story, you're in luck!  

Mika: Yeah, so please send us some reviews because my co-author is threatening to take me down if we don't start getting some appreciation for our hard work.  Lol.  We love writing this, so tell us if you like reading it


	5. Chapter IV – Aboard the Ship

_Chapter IV – Aboard the Ship_

She had looked everywhere in her room.  Sure she had spent hours ripping everything apart, putting her things back, then re-searching, but she still hadn't found that damned girl.  Her room, made up of light brown wood, seemed to be growing larger.  There were constantly new places to search in the brightly lit up cabin.  Sitting down on one of her crates, she wiped her brow in an unladylike manner.  Ladies _were not_ supposed to perspire.  

Sunlight shone through the porthole that she had opened, a light mist sometimes spraying into her room.  It was quite refreshing, along with the nice, cool sea breeze.  Standing before the porthole, she waited for water to sprinkle upon her face, to remove the sweat.  Once it had, a revitalizing quick shower, she took a handkerchief and mopped her face up.

"Well," she said resolutely to herself, "I suppose I'll have to sneak out of here."  Wondering if the troops were still stationed at her door, she opened it a crack, peering out like she had two weeks previous.  No one shouted at her to stay put.  So she opened the door further and looked around.  There were no soldiers standing on guard. 

Confused, she murmured, "This is strange."  Hearing noises from the next room, she realised that they must be busy working.  They must have thought that she would be fooled and not even try to look out her door.  But she had caught them ignoring their duty by not being at their post.  Which was perfectly alright with her.

Walking carefully down the hall, being as quiet as possible as to not be detected, she kept looking behind her, to make sure no one was coming down the stairs.  Coming to the end of the hall, she had a choice to turn left or right.  Taking a guess, she turned right, examining the dark corners and all the shadows.  Here it was much darker, lanterns glowing every few feet.  No sunlight made it here, deeper into the ship.  She just hoped she wouldn't have to go down into the bowels on her search.  That would be the last place a lady should be seen.  But if she had to do it, well, then she had to.

Continuing down the corridor, she passed mostly closed doors.  Those she didn't bother searching.  However, the rooms that were open, she did head into.  The first room was a spartan soldier's room.  His uniforms hung in a wardrobe to the right, his small bed, meticulously made, on the left.  A desk was against the back wall, papers scattered about it, a small stack at the back corner.  A few quills were laid out, stained from frequent use.  A tight lidded bottle of ink was in the inkwell so it wouldn't dance across the desk and smash onto the floor.  She was sure that any cabin boy who had to clean that up would be in a frightful angry state.  Gingerly searching the cabin, not wanting to muss anything up too horribly – she didn't want to be caught, after all – she soon left.  

Jennifer wasn't there.

Onto the next open room.  Stepping inside she realised it was some sort of sitting area.  There was, as in nearly all rooms, a desk to the side.  Lanterns sat on dark tables, black chairs in a relative square in the middle.  A red carpet was laid out on the wooden floor, a fringe of wood visible.  A bottle of rum sat on the low table in the centre of the ring of chairs, a few dirty glasses surrounding it.

"Ugh, God awful drink," Rachelle stated, wrinkling her nose.  There weren't many places to hide in here, but she checked under the desk, table and chairs, just in case.  Still nothing.

Walking through the ship, going into a few more identical solder's rooms, she found some stairs leading deeper down in the ship.  With a deep breath she descended the steps, taking one at a time.  It was quite dark; lanterns spaced even further apart, barely anything visible in the dank, gloomy hallways.  She stepped off the last stair and glanced about, squinting into the darkness.  Thinking that she saw a large, open doorway in the left corridor, she went down it and turned to her right.  There was the large opening, leading into the strangest place she had ever seen.  A large stone hearth – or what she supposed was a hearth – was against one wall.  There were wooden counters along the walls, cupboards lining the walls underneath.  Things were spilling out of the cupboards and off of the counters.  She stepped by the carefully, not wanting to smear anything on her skirts, or get anything caught.  A massive table was situated in the middle of the room, scored and pitted with knife marks, she assumed, as there were knives lying out on this table.  She could only see sections of it, however, as meat and vegetables covered the rest.  Off to the side was a ramshackle icepit, used for ice and to cool things off.  It also seemed to work to keep things fresher.  Along the wall she had come in were herbs, some very rare, hanging, dried.  Although there were some along the counter underneath, growing in pots, or some in jars.

She searched the whole room and as it was mostly in shadows and had many nooks and crannies, not to mention containers Jennifer could hide in, it took her a long time.

Standing up straight, back at the doorway she wiped her brow again and was disgusted by the sweat there.  When she found Jennifer, she would wring her neck, and _never let her leave their room!_

_Never say never._

With a sigh, and blowing a damp tendril of hair out of her face in a most inappropriate fashion, she turned and left the massive room.  Back out into the dark hall, whose rooms she did not want to even consider searching, she looked around.  Heading back towards the stairs, she mounted them slowly and carefully, holding her skirts tiredly as high as was proper for a lady.  It may have been slightly improper for her to have her skirts so bloody high up, but she figured a bit of unseemliness would be greeted much better than a broken neck.  After all, these stairs were steep and very dark.  And not to mention, to her delicate sensibilities, filthy.  At least from what she could see.  But she thought that perhaps these areas were for the lower classes, and so it being in tip top shape – especially with what looked like a kitchen down there – was not as important as the area she and the captain were in.

The captain!  Perhaps Jennifer would be in there!  She couldn't imagine why, but there was a greater chance of her being there, seeing as it was nice and Jennifer was used to nice things.  Instead of down in the dirt and darkness she had just left.

Making it to the top of the steps, she carefully made her way back the same way she had come.  She recognised the sitting room, and the open officers rooms: she also noticed that a few more doors were open, and she figured that their business had been done.  Passing her guards' room, she heard them still working, so knew that she had time to sneak into the captain's quarters.  Going in the direction she was sure had to house him, she followed the corridor to the left of the stairs.  She had to sneak through the shaft of sunlight shining down the light, well worn but meticulous stairs.  There could have been men looking in her direction, and she could be spotted easily.  But no one noticed her and she went down the hall to the end, where an ornate door was slightly open.  Pushing the door open carefully, she noticed that it didn't creak.  The room was done in light colours, mostly white, and although there wasn't a porthole, there were many lanterns.  She supposed that there was so much white to give it a brighter, larger appearance.  Like in the other rooms, there was a wardrobe, a desk, a bed, but it also seemed to have many other effects, filling the room up.  Wherever there wasn't white, there was red.  The carpet on the floor, covering most of the wood, was red.  Some of the pillows were red, all accents around the room were red.  As well as the suit discarded onto the back of a chair, lying limply.  She examined the room, eyes going from the dinner that was somehow ruined, to the bed.

Jennifer looked up at her from the middle of the bed, gave off a sharp bark and began wagging her tail. 

"You rascal!" she exclaimed, heading over and grabbing her beagle pup, "you destroyed the captain's dinner, didn't you!"

"She did?!"  The captain walked over.  "Trust me to take my responsibility at the helm and leave my room alone for five minutes too long, and your bugger of a dog destroys my meal!"

Rachelle gasped, her hand fluttering to her mouth and demanded indignantly, "How dare you use such language before a lady?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it and bowed.  "My apologies, my lady.  Sometimes one forgets himself on the seas."

"Yes, well, see to it that it never happens again."  And with that she strode out of the room, head high, nose in the air, Jennifer imitating her, tail still swishing.

Frowning at the remnants of his meal, the captain then turned and went to the door.  He closed it firmly, having to try a few times for it to finally clasp shut.  He thought that he would have to get one of the deck hands to fix the door.  It must not have shut solidly behind him when he left, and the dog had been able to push it open and find refuge – and a free meal – within.  Marching purposefully back to his bed, he lifted up his dress pants and nearly fainted.

Yellow liquid dripped down from them in a slow rhythm, trickling onto his bed.  His face distorted into one of absolute disgust and sheer shock.  Carefully, he held them as far away from him as he could, at arms length, and dropped them into a pile of already soiled clothes for the maid to take care of that night.  Hands balling into fists at his sides in rage, he blinked a few times to rid the red from his sight.  Although it didn't work too well as there was lots of red in his room.  He turned crisply about and marched back to the bed.

He would have to sleep this off and remind himself of the hefty payment he was getting for delivering the Mistress Clairington.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Sukkumbus: We've taken a bit of a break from writing, and then yesterday afternoon the power went out.  I dunno if you guys heard that in the news, but yeah we were affected.  I'm assuming Mika was as well as I, but there were a few places that weren't . . . We finished the story last week, and started the sequel.  Although we're still going through it and editing, proofreading, adding things, adjusting some stuff . . . It's all good eh.

Oh, and I've noticed from what some of you have said that you have an idea as to how this story is gonna play out.  Now, I could be mistaken and inferencing from nothing, but all I have to say is don't get your hopes up.  For ANYTHING.  Because we jerk you around in this story, lol.  I just don't want anyone to be hoping for something and have it totally not what they expected and have them all disappointed.  Because that would suck.

I'm rambling now, but I just thought I should warn you.  And Mika isn't around to leave a note so . . .

Please review!

Sukkumbus


	6. Chapter V – You’re Sober?

_Chapter V – You're Sober?_

Monkey stared up at Anamaria and began chittering.  She backed away from him slowly, holding the cool, damp washcloth close to her chest.  That animal bothered her.  It was how he came running at Michael's command, knew how and what to steal, how he could use a pistol.  A pistol!  And how he tried to speak when people were speaking, as if he wanted to join the conversation and actually understood what they were saying.

All that made her edgy around Monkey.  But this was the final straw.

Monkey hadn't moved in two weeks, keeping a strict bedside vigil – or really headboard vigil – in the captain's room, waiting for his master to get better.

"Git that bleedin' monkey outa 'ere!"

Jack looked over at her and shook his head.  "Monkey always does that."

She stared at the captain in surprise.  "'Ow would ye know?"

Studying her he just had his mouth partially open, trying to think.  "Bloody God woman, ye think I can think when I'm sober!?"

"Fair enough," she grumbled, edging her way to the bed.  She put the cold compress onto Michael's head.

The captain gazed at his first mate.  "The bugger took all me rum, ye do realise that."

"Other than the fact, cap'n, that 'e was passed out cold and drooling?"

He grumbled, "He's usually like that."  Then he jumped up, grinning.  "Well, ye have everything under control 'ere, I'll check on deck."

"Yes cap'n," she mumbled, pulling the covers of Jack's bed up over the young man.  "'E's gotta 'orrible fever runnin'."

"See to it that it stops," Jack growled, storming out of the room.  "All my rum!" she heard him shout from the corridor.

"Yes, yes cap'n, all yer rum," she said, staring down at the first mate, who seemed remarkably innocent when asleep.  Or passed out.  She didn't know which one he was at the moment.  "'Ell Cutthroat, I dunno why, but the cap'n has a mighty good side whicha.  'E gave up 'is whole private stash to knock ye out so we could take them nasty splinters outa yer hands."  She took the cloth away and put it back into the basin, soaking it, then wringing it out.  Walking back over, she continued to talk.  "The whole stash we had, boy, was destroyed in the storm, see.  And the cap'n, usually impossible to part 'im with 'is rum it is, readily gave it up when we needed to knock ye out.  All of it."  She shook her head and applied the compress once again.  "And ye still haven't come round, boy.  The cap'n's in a right state.  'E needs ye on deck."  She looked up and realised Monkey was staring straight at her, head slightly cocked as he played with his tail, picking at it, acting as if he casually understood every word she had just spoken.

He made a few noises as if to reply, grinning fiendishly.

"And that monkey o' yers, Monkey – some bloody name – won't leave yer bedside.  Cap'n says that's normal, but I ask what does the cap'n know?  He's sober after all."  With a shrug she took the cloth away yet again.  Every time she applied it to the first mate's head, it didn't take it long to become dirty.  "Lord knows, boy, ye need to git cleaned up."

He groaned in his sleep.

"Ye wakin' up now?  Well, jus' tell me when yer ready to git up," she chuckled, wringing the cloth out in the basin again.  Dirty water plinked down into it, the water already a light shade of brown, with a few black flecks.  "Jus' tell Anamaria whatcha need boy, I'm 'ere to help."

Michael's groaning increased and he began rolling about in the bed.

"Now now boy, don't move.  Yer arms are bound down.  We didn't bother untying ye after pickin' out all yer slivers.  God that was an awful sight.  Took us hours, it did, Thomas and me.  We were 'alf afraid you'd rouse out of your stupor when we were jus' 'alf done, we did."  Lifting up the rather heavy basin, she carried it to the door and put it down so she would remember to take it.

"Jack . . ." Michael groaned.

"Ye want the cap'n do ye?  Well, I should tell 'im yer up anyway.  'E'll be right pleased."  She glared at Monkey who began speaking in his own way at the sound of his master's voice then swept out of the room, to the deck to grab Jack.

A moment later the captain walked into his room, shutting the door behind him, closing Anamaria out.  She stared at the worn wood, frowning, but acknowledged the captain's silent request to leave.  Now.

She acknowledged the fact that he wanted her to leave, but she was the only woman aboard, and so was the only one with medical knowledge.  Well, first mate Michael had the knowledge as well: the curse of being the youngest son in an all male family – all the girl chores were up to him to learn – but he wasn't able to take care of himself now was he?

Opening the door defiantly, ready to take any shouting Jack had to offer, any anger he wanted to dish out, she took a step inside and shut the door behind her.

"I am the only one 'ere, cap'n who can 'eal this boy."

Jack glowered at her, the black kohl making him look quite fierce.  But then he smirked.  "Of course, Anamaria.  Of course."  He studied his first mate, but didn't untie the restraints.  "Don't want you to hurt yerself while you thrash, lo . . . lad," he stated, the smirk still playing on his lips.  Monkey chattered and leaped onto the captain's shoulder.  "Well hello there, Monkey."  Reaching around, he scratched the animal on the head.  Monkey spoke in the captain's ear, wanting to keep this conversation private.  

Jack nodded solemnly.  "Don't ye worry, Monkey, yer master'll be fine."

Anamaria just stared, not able to decide whether the captain was indulging the monkey, or seriously thought he could understand him.  She didn't really care to find out either way.

"Well, matie, ye drank all me rum," he said, looking to Michael with almost a tender gaze.  Anamaria could understand that though.  The captain and his first mate had been working together for twelve years.  A bond had definitely developed between the men.  It was quite obvious even on deck.  Michael had a lot of control over the Pearl, and was almost on par with the captain.  And Jack seemed to have absolutely no qualms with this.  Also, the young man was fiercely loyal to his captain, having even left the ship during the mutiny, to search his captain out.  He would never swear loyalty to Barbossa and had spent a lot of time as such a young child, braving the world to find the only man he would call captain.

Now _that_ was loyalty.  Loyalty only an idealistic child could have, and it was for the best.  The captain truly trusted his first mate, which was needed to run a ship properly.  Because of the mutiny sprung on him eleven years previous, he was trusting of no one.

Except Monkey, to whom he was feeding chunks of fruit to at the moment, and Michael.

"Well, lo . . . lad," he said in a rather chipper voice, only hints of a roguish undertone as Michael's eyes fluttered open, body going stiff, "welcome back to the wakin' world."

"Jack," he whispered, muscles relaxing, "you're sober."

He chuckled, Monkey skittering about his shoulders.  Then he took the captain's hat and, trying it on, (it completely covering his head and shoulders) he began modeling for the three.  Swiping it back and putting it on, Jack grumbled, "Give that here." 

Laughing weakly, Michael then took a few desperate and painful sounding gasps of air.  His eyes went wide and he gurgled, the agony too much.

"Oh aye, ye broke yer ribs lad," Jack said calmly, glancing over at Anamaria.  "But ye had a good nurse 'ere."

She looked proud at the captain's compliment, but didn't really need it.  She was as important a member of the crew as anyone else – and Jack Sparrow had better remember that.

"What about," he coughed and struggled to speak, "my hands?"

"Ye drank all me rum, boy, so Anamaria and Thomas could take care o' those."  Here he gave an impish smile, "Lo . . . lad."

"That's why . . . you're sober."

With a serious tilt of his head, he said, "Aye lo . . . lad.  Ye needed it all to pass out."

Michael stared up at the captain who seemed perfectly at ease with Monkey on his shoulder.  Monkey grinned at his master then ran across the edge of the bed, back to his spot on the headboard.

"'E's been standin' there for two weeks," Anamaria supplied.

"T-two weeks?"

"Ye wouldn't wake after ye took all me rum."  He made a face and glanced sidelong at Anamaria then returned his eyes to Michael.  "And I took yer bed, lo . . . lad."

He smirked.  "Jack Sparrow, being compassionate?"

Straightening his hat he quipped in jest, "That's _Captain Jack Sparrow, and don't you forget it."_

Michael smirked.  "Sorry, cap'n."

The captain grinned, showing off gold teeth and Monkey grinned back, showing off his pointy, yellow teeth.  

There was a stomp of footsteps hurrying outside the door.  Then it burst open, slamming against the wall.  "Cap'n?"

Jack turned to look at the door where one of the crew was standing, panting.  

"We need ye on deck."

With a dramatic sigh, the captain stood, straightened his hat then strolled out of the room, Anamaria following behind with instructions for Michael "to rest."

"What else am I gonna do, Monkey?" he mumbled, tugging at the ropes holding his arms in place.  "I canna git up anyway."

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~

Well, Mika can't be on the pooter for awhile, so that means pretty much no more writing of the sequel for now, and no notes from her.  Hmm . . . Ummm . . . poor Michael?  Oh, and I had one of my friends read this (he read the first 100 pgs or so) and he was totally shocked by certain turns of events and was barking up the wrong tree.  So my previous warning definitely stands. 

Oh, um, I still dunno if I got anyone in character.  Yeah.  I saw the movie once, wrote the whole story, started the sequel, saw the movie again the next day then did some editing . . . But I still need to see it a few more times to be able to get the characters right.  Mika says I did fine, that she thinks everyone is great, but I dunno.  I just don't want anyone to say it's wrong.

I'm going back to bed.

Please review!

Sukkumbus


	7. Chapter VI – Monotony

_Chapter VI - Monotony_

Maids' work.  That's what she was doing.  All to occupy her time.   The white handkerchief swept along the last bit of her desk; although she didn't really use it, it _was something to clean.  When sure that it was sparkling in the sunlight pouring through the porthole, she moved to the wardrobe and wiped it down.  Once finished wiping every mote of dust she could reach, Rachelle sat on her bed, hands folded in her lap._

Oh this was boring.  Jennifer looked lazily up at her then lowered her head back to her red paws.  She was curled up in her basket, looking to be about as bored as her mistress.  After a few minutes of blank staring, Rachelle stood and began to pace.  There had to be something to do, there absolutely had to be!  Her diary was tucked away in a trunk, but what would she write?  "I'm bored," repeatedly?  Was there no mercy?

Perhaps when she got to port things would pick up.  She had heard, brief snippets of course from the soldiers, that the Caribbean was a thrilling, exhilarating place to be.  If one excepted the pirates.  However, the men did love to battle, being in the army and all, and so would gladly fight any pirates that came near (this was excitement and fun for them).  But normal people, again excepting the pirates, thought the Caribbean an entertaining place to be.  

She couldn't wait to reach Port Royale and meet her fiancé.  He was a fine, upstanding man from what she had been told and being away from home should prove to be quite entertaining.  Still, her mind wandered to the hushed stories of the men on board, who spoke of a pirate so evil, so vile that Hell itself had spat him back out.  And his first mate who seemed to be just as bad.  She hadn't heard much more on the subject, but hearing about someone that horrid sent chills up her spine.

However with the warm sun shining in the room and the quarters bright with day, it wasn't such a horrible subject to dwell upon.  The shivers were subdued with warmth, any shadows cast in her mind expelled by golden light.  At least the topic was entertaining and kept her mind occupied.

Perhaps a book would help her.  Did she have the patience to read, though?  She wanted to start her adventure.  At first she thought that being on a boat would be an adventure, or the start of hers, but being locked up in a room was not her idea of an escapade.  If she wanted that, she could have stayed at home.  At least at home she would have had her harp, or her mother playing piano as they sang.  Or embroidery.  She had a lovely piece she was working on, half done, and desperately wanted to finish it, especially now.  But she had thought that she wouldn't need it, heading off on this "adventure."

Her puppy yipped a few times, reminding her of her friend, her dog's namesake.  Jennifer had wanted adventure as well, and look where it got her.  Perhaps being on an adventure, but not being an active participant was much better.  At least she would survive, and could say she travelled to the Caribbean from England.  How many women could say that?  Not many.  

She of course, would not mention the fact that she was stowed away in her room, waiting for permission to leave, to meet her future husband.  Telling people the full truth of her time sailing wouldn't be as entertaining as having them believe she had _done something.  Her mind went to her fiancé again.  Trusting her Father's judgement, she knew the Commodore would be an excellent man, a great provider.  His character she knew nothing about, but that wasn't the point of good breeding, good matches. _

Sitting back down on the edge of her bed, she tapped her fingers impatiently on her knee.  There had to be _something _to do.  Jennifer padded over to her and sat at her feet, staring up with her wide, brown eyes.  Lifting her dog up, she heard noises from the room beside her.

"Why do those men have to be so noisy when they work?" she cooed to the dog, scratching her behind the ears.  "I wish we could do something.  Maybe a trip up on deck would be fun?"

The pup just continued to gaze up at Rachelle from her lap, her prim pink dress becoming slightly wrinkled from Jennifer's weight.  But neither cared.  Stroking the dog's soft fur was something, and something was what she had been wishing for.

"Two months of this," she sighed.  "And two more months to go.  How will we manage?"

Giving a sharp bark in reply, Jennifer snuggled down on Rachelle's lap, getting comfortable.  Her tail wagged spasmodically as the young woman petted her.  Eyes blank and staring off into nothingness, she tried to jog her brain into working.

What could she do in a virtually empty room?  Her dresses _had been stuffed into crates for the two months at sea.  Perhaps it was time they were shook out and allowed to air.  The creases must have been becoming pretty bad.  Lifting her pet up then setting her gently to the floor, Rachelle then stood and went to the eight crates.  Two of them were her dowry, and the other six had her things.  Five were full of dresses and personal items, the last one stuffed with her hygienic products, like soap.   _

Opening one of the crates filled with her dresses, she carefully lifted them out, one by one.  She shook out the first one, then laid it out on her bed.  True, she had a few dresses in the wardrobe, but it was no where near as large as the one she owned at home.  Her favourite and most expensive dresses were kept there.  They could not afford to be kept in crates.  Winkles would destroy them and they had to stay hanging.

"Is this not just so boring?" she asked down to Jennifer, stroking the dress on the bed, smoothing it.  Grabbing it again, she shook it once more and repeated the smoothing process.  Then she set it aside and took out another dress, a light gold one.  After that was her light blue dress and to her taste, a tad too low cut.  But her aunt had insisted, as it _was_ fashionable.

Standing straight and breathing properly so she could get air in her lungs, her eyes drifted to her dog.  

"It is hard work having to bend over and breathe."

Jennifer just cocked her head questionably.

"The corset, silly."  She smiled and went to her mirror, which she had hung on the wall the first day she had arrived.  Although it was sin to be vain, she had to make sure everything was perfect.  Her makeup had not been smudged and her light red hair still hung perfectly around her, so all was fine.

Returning to her crates of dresses, she continued to unpack and cover her bed in her clothing.  Delicate fabrics from all over the world coated her bed, in all sorts of shades.  Light red, light green, pinks and peaches.  They were all so beautiful.  She was quite lucky being the daughter of a rich family, to have such great items.  And the dresses weren't all.  Her brush was made of the finest ivory, everything she owned had at least some gold on it.  Everything was expensive, at the height of fashion and absolutely beautiful.

She sat on her bed in a huff, avoiding the skirts surrounding her.

"I must be pretty bored, Jenny, if I am taking inventory."  Forcing herself back up, she went to the desk and opened a drawer, the only thing she used.  From it, she took out a beat up Bible and returned to her bed.  Flipping through it she began reading.  It was tedious, it was slightly boring and it was everything she had read before . . . but at least it was something to do.

At least she had finished with the dresses.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

*Feels better than she has in days*  Thanks guys!  (this is Suk)  The reviews are awesome.  I've been feeling really down about fanfiction because I've got some flames lately . . . But now I realise that for the one asshole who hates me, there are ten wonderful people who think I (and as in the case of this story, Mika[2]) should continue writing!  Thanks bunchels!

And yeah *laughs* lots of people went into PotC for Orlando and came out loving Johnny.  Jack Sparrow (_Captain Jack Sparrow!) is just so sexy.  For me, Johnny Depp is an amazing actor and he is definitely good looking, sexy even, but I'm not obsessed with him.  However, I totally love Cap'n Jack Sparrow._

Anyhoo, keep reading and reviewing, and we'll keep writing.  The sequel has been on hiatus for a week or two because Mika is going off to University (she's going to Waterloo if any Cunucks are wondering) so she's been packing and getting ready and such.  But don't worry, we'll continue writing when she has the internet (I guess she's in a dorm or something) and I'll be posting steadily from home.  :)

Sukkumbus

(PS: sorry the chappie was a bit short, but you try writing a chapter on being bored! Lol.  But it's all good eh . . .)

(PPS: that IS why Jack gave up his rum, but the reason why we even wrote it in is because it's like "WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING?!  HE'S GIVING UP HIS RUM!!!"  So yeah.  :P)


	8. Chapter VII – Boredom and Uselessness

_Chapter VII – Boredom and Uselessness_

Rubbing his arms where the ropes had dug in, Michael examined his pirate tattoo indifferently.  He was still stuck in his room, although finally trusted out of bed, his ribs wrapped up tight.  The only thing for him to do was contemplate the simple bluish markings on his arm.  The depiction of his name was a knife with blood dripping off it.  It hadn't taken him long to earn the nickname Cutthroat.  It was at the beginning of his career as a young boy on the Black Pearl.  With the original crew.  Back then he had been a lowly, kicked around cabin boy.  But it had strengthened him.  Bootstrap Bill and Captain Jack Sparrow had taken a real shine to him though.  However, cabin boys are supposed to be pushed around, so the captain didn't do much about the abuse.  Although he _could tell that his youngest crew member had been educated at some point.  He found that interesting, but every time he had asked about his "learned cabin boy" Michael just shut his mouth firmly, shook his head and continued cleaning.  _

Perhaps it was the young boy's age that had made Jack more amiable towards him.  But it was after the first raid he had been on, thereby earning his pirate name, that the captain really warmed up to him.

It was actually a very nice day out.  The crew was itching to plunder and rape, get themselves some booty of every sort.  The captain was, as usual, thirsty for rum, having dried out the supplies the day previous.  So they headed towards port, but halfway there, came across another pirate ship.  It was smaller and no where near as skilled or equipped, but the two ships fought anyway.  The Black Pearl was boarded – stupidly Jack and Michael still thought – and the others attempted to attack.  They ran onto the Black Pearl and everyone began fighting.  It was a mess of men shooting and hacking at each other.  Although young, Michael had come up from the bowels to see the action.  He watched for a bit, then was spotted and attacked.  Fast as lightning his knife was out and through the pirate's throat.  For a split second, everyone ceased their battle, stunned.  Then it resumed.  The boy stared for a long while at the corpse before him, the corpse he had created.  Blood dripped heavily off his glimmering blade.  He stared, entranced with the sight, with what he had just done.

Then he wiped the blood off onto his clothes, calm as could be, and looked around.  All the older men were locked in battle, so he was in no trouble.  No one paid any attention to him again, too engrossed with who they were fighting with at the moment.

He looked up at the helm, and watched the captain fighting three men.  He seemed quite competent and Michael was just happy to be watching a great pirate such as Jack Sparrow at work.  But then he realised something was wrong.  Although felling two of the enemy pirates in a spectacular splash of crimson, the last one was beginning to best Jack.

Without a thought and blind loyalty the only thing pulsing through his veins, Michael jumped up, ran to the wheel and clambered onto the top of the column.  Jack spotted him, ready to leap onto the man he was fighting with and gave a slight nod and a smirk.  The boy threw himself at the large man, locking his heels into his ribs and his arms around his neck.  Shocked at this strange onslaught, it gave Jack the advantage he needed.  The only flaw in the plan was if he stabbed the pirate, he could also stab the cabin boy.

However, Michael took care of this.  Once again, in a quick flash, his knife was out.  All this happened in a second, but the pirate's mind was starting to work again.  He didn't get much time, though.  The blade of the young boy's knife was drawn cleanly across the massive pirate's throat, blood splashing out of his slit jugular, coating Michael's hands and hitting his captain.

Jack jumped back and grinned wickedly at the boy as he fell with the pirate he was still on.  Scrambling up, he stood and gazed up at his captain.

"Well, cutthroat, don't ye have a story to tell . . ."

And, once all the pirates had been either killed or driven off the Pearl, the men sat, impressed with the boy's work.  And they spoke of how he cut the two pirate's throats without hesitation, without thought.  At first they teased him by calling him cutthroat, but soon it became his respected name.

He was damned proud of that.

Leaning his head back against his bed, slouching on the floor, Michael knew he had to be bored and in a bad place to have to bring up happy times.  Reminiscing about the great things he had done, usually with Jack, because once they had found each other after the mutiny, they were inseparable.  Well, more of Michael searching Jack out after the mutiny, which had taken some time.  And inseparable except when Jack had left Michael behind before heading to Port Royal.  When Jack returned to fetch his first mate, as he had appointed him years previous, Michael had stormed up to him and punched him in the face.

He had deserved that.  And he well knew it.

He turned his head and gazed blankly at the door.  Monkey ran across the captain's bed and onto Michael's head.  He made a few sounds, moving his hands, then rested, watching the door eagerly.

Michael was hoping for some sort of escape, trying to formulate a plan as he stared out the only exit of this room; and Monkey was just a strange little animal.   

"The cap'n made me first mate, matie, long ago."  He sighed and Monkey scuttled down his master's skull to the end of the bed, staring at him.  He chattered for a moment then stopped to listen, having put in his few words.  

Reaching over, Michael patted him on the head.  "But why?" he snarled, "I mean, lookit me!  I canna do my duties!"  

The door slammed open and Jack sneered, taking his first mate completely by surprise.  Monkey however, applauded the spectacular entrance as if expecting it the whole time.

"Traitor," Michael mumbled under his breath, getting a reproachful look from Monkey.

"Canna do yer duties?" Jack said loudly, strolling into the room as if he owned the place – which he did.  "Ye did yer duty and need to rest.  Git yer usless lump of a body back in bed."  He pointed out towards the steps, eyes wide.  "I'll git Anamaria."

Glowering up at the captain, thinking that was quite an unfair tactic, Michael slowly stood and slid onto the bed.  Captain and first mate still had their eyes locked in a glower-contest.

"Stay," he said calmly, holding out his hands, looking around them on either side a few times, to make sure Michael was listening.  And also because that was just how Jack moved.  "Monkey!"

Monkey ran over and sat on Jack's shoulder.

"We need ye on deck."  With that, Jack left Michael completely alone and in pain.

"Scallywags!" Michael roared when the door closed, "bleedin' maggot infested vermin!"  He sat in a huff, but was unable to cross his arms for his ribs.  His mood gave him an itch to kill and his body just wasn't healing fast enough.  And he was needed on deck.  He was supposed to be aiding in the running of the Pearl, and how was he to do that if he was down in the captain's room, lazing in bed?

He was not lazy and _would not_ have the condition pressured onto him!  If things had to be done, and on a ship there were never shortages of work, then he should be there, doing more than his fair share. 

Listening carefully for anyone in the corridor, Michael then slid carefully and gingerly out of bed.  He took a few steps, wincing as his ribs gave off sharp pangs.  This just wasn't fair.  His hands burned, his ribs ached and his whole body was stiff and sore.  It took him about two minutes to make it to the door.  By then he had become more used to the pain and, although in near agony, was able to fake feeling fine.  His fingers touched the doorknob and he took a deep breath, straightening up.  His eyes hardened and a sneer formed on his lips as he opened the door and stepped out into the dark hall.  Shutting the door behind him, he squinted at the stairs.  Walking purposefully towards them, biting down the constant pain he was in, he put his foot on a step and brought his other foot up beside it.  Slowly he mounted them, determination etched deeply on his face.  There was no way in hell he would show his discomfort, no way in hell he would show an ounce of pain.  Making it to the top he opened the hatch and stepped up onto deck.

He took a deep lungful of sea air, having never smelt nor tasted anything so sweet.  The sound of the ocean was beautiful, the sun warming his flesh.  Being out of bed, back on deck where he belonged, out in the open, was a taste of heaven.  He closed his eyes, pain flooding out of him as the sun beat down, as the warm winds, made slightly cool because of their speed, brushed by him.  He had felt this good on rare occasion.  It was better than being loaded on rum with Jack, it was better than constantly escaping the clutches of the bumbling English navy.  

The sky was clear blue with a few fluffy clouds, the sun was bright yellow and the sea smelt perfect.  Michael was just so overwhelmed by freedom from the cabin that he didn't know what to do.  How to react.

He just stood there for a few minutes, arms out, face tipped up to the sky with his eyes closed, inhaling salty air as deep as he could.  

Once he had sufficiently adapted to his new surroundings, his eyes fluttered open.  His arms lowered and the pain flooded back so quickly that it made his eyes water.  Taking a shaky, careful breath, he regained his composure, stuffing all the pain away as best he could.

Looking up at the helm, he saw Jack standing there, one hand on the wheel.  His other hand was on his hip and he was staring either blankly or intensely out at sea.  Michael headed over and stood beside the captain for a full minute before clearing his throat, getting Jack's attention.

"What?" he blinked a few times, staring up at his first mate.  He was not expecting this.  The last thing he wanted was Michael doing something stupid and getting himself hurt.  They needed him healed.  Then again, even the lad's dreadlocks, so much like the captains, seemed limp.  One of Michael's dreads hung against his cheek, bright beads twined in his blonde hair, the shark tooth on the end gently swinging against his cheek with each laboured breath.   

"Cap'n, I can't stay abed – I'm useless there."

Jack eyed him then raised his finger, looking questioning.  "Who is captain?"

"Uh, you, sir."

"Right, I thought so.  So matie, ye have no choice.  Get to bed."

Michael glowered, lip curling dangerously.  Jack however, paid no mind.

"I be useless down there!"

"Ye'll be useless up here too, lo . . . lad!"  He noticed the first mate grimace slightly after yelling.  "Yer in pain."  He put his hands on the wheel, changing their direction slightly to better use the wind.  "You can go yerself, but if ye don't, I'll have ye dragged down."

"Fine, captain," Michael spat, walking off with his back straight and head held high.  Jack watched him go to the hatch and clamber down the stairs.  What he didn't see was Michael collapsing against the wall once he was deeper in the ship, reaching out and clutching the side of the staircase.  Walking like that had hurt, but he could show nothing.  He had to have pure grit or he was useless.

Useless.

Shuffling back to the captain's quarters, he opened the door then slammed it behind him, _really_ needing to kill.

How the captain allowed him to stay in bed for this long was beyond him.  He was supposed to be working, not babied.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Um, well, Mika just emailed me the other day.  She's settling into her new University life and such . . . I'll let her tell you herself when we resume work on the sequel, lol.  So . . . nothin' much to put here . . . 

Review please.

Sukkumbus (and the absent Mika)


	9. Chapter VIII – Shoot me, Please!

_Chapter VIII – Shoot me, Please!_

Michael held his pistol, hands shaking, eyes wild.  Jack had both his hands up, trying to calm the boy down.

"There's a good lo . . . lad," he said, taking a step forward.  He knew for a fact that Michael would never shoot him and had no fear of approaching the boy.  The men standing behind the captain, peering in the doorway however, were another story.

Breathing shallow, the first mate took a step back for every one of Jack's advances.  But soon he was against the wall with nowhere to move, gun still cocked and trembling.

"Ye canna aim like that anyway," Jack murmured, grabbing the barrel in his left hand and twisting, taking the butt in his right.  He put it with his effects and guided the quivering Michael to his bed.

"I'm useless!" the young man wailed, groaning in pain after that ejaculation.

"Anamaria!" Jack yelled, becoming impatient.  A moment later the woman rushed in, large metal mug in hand.

"'Ere love," she said to Michael, handing it over, "drink this up."

"What is it?" Jack asked, peering over the bed to try and see what his crewman was drinking.

"Tea."

He made a face, brow furrowing.  "Tea?" he repeated.

"Yes," she snapped, "it'll put 'im to sleep, it will."

Still looking dubiously at her, he just said, "Oh." 

_Step step step step; one more bloody round about the boat and I'll scream!_

Rachelle twisted a delicate light blue handkerchief in her hands, the perfect lockstep really rubbing her the wrong way.  Finally, so sick of it, she stormed out of her room, ignoring the stunned expressions of her guards, then their attempts to bring her back in.

She mounted the stairs fluidly, standing up on deck, the sun beating down on her.  Realising she forgot her parasol, she felt somewhat stupid.  But no matter, she wouldn't be up for long.

Johnson came running up to her, Christopher not far behind.

"Excuse me?" Rachelle said to Johnson sweetly as Christopher straightened up by her side.

"Yes Miss?"

"Do you have a pistol?"

"Why, yes I do."

"May I see it?"

"Uh, why Miss?"

"_So I can shoot myself!_" she screeched, covering her ears, unable to drown out the infernal racket of boots, boots, _boots_!  Stepping, stomping, marching, all in unison, always together, locked in concert.

Both men jumped back.  

"Shoot yourself?" Christopher spluttered, looking shocked.

"Either stop that marching, kill yourselves, or kill me!"  And with that she gathered her skirts and ran back down to her cabin to shut herself in.  It was slightly more silent down there, the marches more subdued. 

Monkey sat on top of the covers, on Michael's pelvis.  He picked at his tail, chittering mindlessly.  The first mate just stared at his pet, bored out of his skull.  Because of the earlier fiasco, Jack ordered Michael be tied down again until he was calm.  The captain said he would check on him later that night and that no one was to enter his room for any reason.  Even the sight of someone could provoke Michael into fits of rage, and the crew well knew this by now.  So they heeded the captain's words, not wanting to incite Cutthroat into bloodlust.  

Offering his master a louse he found in his tail, Monkey then ate it when Michael shook his head, declining.  Then, carefully, Monkey walked up his master's torso and sat on his chest.

"Monkey, ye have to be the most _annoying_ animal the Gods put on this here Earth!"

Monkey looked quite proud at that statement and groomed himself.

"Can ye git me outa these binds?" he asked, tugging at his wrists and feet.  He felt little hands on his face and looked up, seeing Monkey's body over him.  Then his pet sat behind him and began playing with the shiny things in his hair.

Sighing and making great effort to reserve himself to this fate, Michael laid there, unable to stop Monkey from doing what he wanted.  

Rachelle stared out the porthole from her bed.  How she would have loved to be some sort of sea creature, out there in the world, doing whatever she pleased.  Swimming all day without a care, playing with her fellow creatures.  Water rippling quietly overhead as the dark depths welcomed them, sun shining brilliantly above.

Shaking her head, she let out a heavy sigh, hands folded in her lap.  She looked down at Jennifer, who was sitting at her feet.

"There is nothing to do.  I cannot believe that _I_ could be treated in such a manner!"

Jennifer cocked her head and yipped in reply.

"I know!  The nerve of it all!"

She crossed her arms, looking and feeling miserable.  There was really no point in daydreaming, but really, what else was there to do?  At least her mind could do what it wanted, leave the room and go on all sorts of adventures.  Even though her body could not follow, she could dream.  And that water looked so beautiful, so clear and cool.  She could just imagine being a water animal, slipping into the crisp liquid, soothed by gently lapping waves.

Oh she was bored, and ready to scream.  Jennifer, sensing her mistress' unhappiness, began chasing her tail.  Rachelle giggled and watched the silly dog on her endless quest, circling again and again, nearly making her dizzy.

Casting one miserable last glance out the porthole, Rachelle wanted to be free.

The ceiling was the most boring thing he had ever looked at.  He couldn't sleep, his eyes wouldn't even stay closed.  Monkey was curled up in his armpit, snoring – however monkeys snored, he had no idea.  And there Michael was, stuck to his fate of gazing at an endlessly dreary ceiling.  He could feel himself sinking, yearning to get out of this bed, to get out on deck and _do _something.  Not only was he afraid of becoming depressed, cabin fever was beginning to encroach on him.  The pain had pretty much faded and he was basically healed.  It had taken about three months, three months of being tied up to the captain's bed, three months of being alone and not helping out on the Pearl, three months of being useless and lazy.

Three months of pain, over.  They had kept him tied down for awhile.  Jack hadn't wanted to risk letting him go.  He'd just make another break for the deck.  Michael couldn't understand why he kept attempting to go up on deck, seeing as he was brought down to the captain's quarters every single time – but at least he was trying.  They couldn't say that he _wanted to be lazy, that he __wanted to stay cooped up and leave the work to everyone else.  Perhaps that was why, at least to prove that he was trying to work, trying to do something, but it was beyond his power.  The captain wouldn't let him._

_Shoot me and put me out of me misery,_ he groaned to himself, shaking his head.  This was brutal.  The worst injuries he had sustained and they weren't even from fighting.  How shameful was that?

Sure, Jack had seemed pretty proud that he had risked his life for the Pearl, but who wouldn't?  It was his duty as first mate to have unwavering loyalty and support to his captain, and his captain's ship.

He began screaming in frustration, tugging at his binds, waking Monkey up who began reprimanding him, then screaming along.

Rachelle couldn't stop pacing.  She had to do something, even if it was walking back and forth, wearing a groove in the floor.  Served them right if they had to fix the cabin when she was finished!  This wasn't right, it wasn't fair!  Keeping her locked in, dejected and alone.

She kicked her Bible, which she had thrown against the wall in frustration earlier on, and watched it skid underneath the porthole.

"I'm so bored!" she screamed, not caring if she was making a scene, not caring if she was acting unladylike.  This was a horrible fate.  The room was drab and she had already shaken out her dresses God knew how many times.  She had even gone as far as taking out all her personal items and reorganising her trunks.  All her corsets in one, all her personal things in the next with her items for keeping herself clean and fresh (instead of her personal things being interspersed with her dresses), her parasols in another and then her dresses in the final five crates.

How bored did she have to be to do servant's work?  Obviously this bored.  

Stomping over to the door in the beginnings of a temper tantrum, she started slamming her delicate fists on the wood, screaming through it at her stationed troops.

"I hate you!  You foul, horrible knaves!  How dare you keep me locked up in here!  How dare you!" she finished, screeching.  She couldn't stand being in this cabin any longer.  She just wanted out, out!  Freedom!  Give her anything, she didn't care what happened to her, she just wanted to get out of here!  She needed excitement, adventure, or else this whole trip was worthless.

Stomping back to her bed and sitting down, chin in her hands, elbows on her knees in an old, childlike position that would get her slapped at home now-a-days, she glanced down at Jennifer.

"It would not be good to let Jennifer down, now would it?  Your namesake died for adventure, and I cannot even leave my bloody," here she clapped her hands over her mouth, stunned at what she had picked up from the men, "I mean, my room."  She felt herself go red at saying a bad word, and went over to the mirror to see if her visage reflected her sin.  No, she looked pretty much the same, if not for the flush colouring her cheeks and neck.

With a heavy sigh and frustrated tears welling up in her eyes, she collapsed back on her bed and sobbed.

She just wanted out.

Michael glowered up at Monkey, who glowered back.  But Monkey had the advantage, not being bound up, so he could poke his master all he wanted.  

"Yer one lucky animal!" Michael finally roared, sick of being slapped and prodded by his pet.  "If I wasna tied up, I'd kill ye!"

Monkey just laughed and bounced around the bed, then sat on the headboard in his usual spot.

Michael groaned, trying to shut his eyes and ignore the anger welling up in him.

He just wanted out.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Here's the new chappie, hope you enjoyed.  Rachelle's funny eh?  Hehe.  And Monkey rules!  Oh yeah Monkey!  (this is Sukkumbus – Mika and I have kinda been outa touch because of her University *makes face*).  Anyhoo, hopefully we'll be able to resume writing soon and also hopefully I'll be seeing PotC again tomorrow (or today [Thursday in either case] – matters on whenever this chapter makes it up on ffnet within ten minutes or not). 

Okay, finished with the note for now.  And you won't have to wait TOO much longer until you see how the two worlds mesh.  Don't worry!  It's coming up!

Please review.

Sukkumbus (and the absent Mika, of course :D)


	10. Chapter IX – The Pearl

_Chapter IX – The __Pearl___

Johnson and Christopher entered Rachelle's quarters quite unexpectedly a day later.  She was sitting on her bed, eyes blank, hands folded in her lap, a prim, nearly white pink dress on, with darker pink accents.  She also had a light pink handkerchief in her hand, wringing it slightly, absentmindedly.

Christopher cleared his throat, making Rachelle jump in surprise, turning to stare at him.

"Yes?"

"The captain has invited you up on deck to walk with you."

Her eyes lit up.  Finally she was going to leave this forsaken room.

"Good.  Just give me a moment, please," she said politely, standing and sweeping over to her crate of parasols.  Opening the heavy medium brown lid, the lock made of iron, the same type as the edges and corners were covered with, she studied the contents.  Reaching in, she searched it for a minute then emerged with a pink parasol, nearly identical to her dress.

Opening it, she rested it on her shoulder, her hand on the grip and strode to the door, nose in the air.  The two troops accompanied her to the deck and led her to the helm, where the captain stood stoically, hands clasped behind his back.

"Sir, Miss Clairington is here," Johnson said, bowing along with Christopher.

The captain looked over, some life lighting in his eyes.  "Very well."  He turned his head and shouted over to a man walking around deck, examining things and giving commands every so often.  "Williams!  Take over!"

The man stood and bowed slightly.  "Yes sir!"

Studying Rachelle's face, he explained, "Williams is my first mate.  When I am not in charge, he is."

She nodded and remembered her manners, curtsying prettily.  That made the captain smile.  He offered his arm like a proper gentleman and she took it, her hand resting gently on his perfect coat.

Like the perfect marching around the ship.  Shuddering at how irritating the soldiers were, she tried to block it out and give the captain all her attention.

"How is that rascal of a dog of yours?" the captain asked kindly, but still Rachelle blushed in embarrassment.

"I do apologise, sir.  She is but a puppy and does not understand many things.  I feel so horrible for what she did."

"I had a dog once," he told her, "and all puppies are like that."

She was relieved.  "Thank you so much for understanding."

"Of course."  They continued their walk in silence, not really knowing what they could talk about.  The captain had heard of the young woman's anger about being cooped up all trip, so he had wanted to allow her out for at least one day.  She would be safe with him so there was no need for his men to tail them.  Besides that, there were soldiers all over the ship: if there was trouble, she would be fine.

And seeing as they were so near port, he doubted that there would be any trouble.  If anything was going to happen, it would have happened by now.

After a while of silence, Rachelle spoke up.

"Is it not a beautiful day today?" she asked, gesturing about.

"Yes it is.  A fine day."

"And when will we be reaching Port Royal?"

"It should not be too much longer, Miss."

She smiled up at him.  "I am quite eager to meet my fiancé.  Do you know him?"

"Yes, I do actually, Miss."

The walked on, looking out to the sea, or around the ship.

"What is he like?"

"He is a fine, upstanding gentleman.  A great, powerful man.  A good match for any lady of good breeding."

Thinking about her wonderful new husband, a happy smile plastered on her face, she twirled her parasol absentmindedly.  It kept her relatively cool, shading her from the beating sun.  Then a thought hit her and she was suddenly curious.

"Sir?"

"Yes Miss?"

"Sometimes I hear my two guards in the next room.  They seem to be working very hard, but why are they sometimes so noisy?"

The captain seemed to pale slightly.  "Well, Miss, soldiers can be, er, boisterous.  I am quite sure they did not mean to disturb you."

"Oh."  She nodded politely, letting him lead her around.  "Sir?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"What are the chances of being caught by pirates?"  Her voice was slightly shaky, although she was trying to make it strong.  He knew she had to be at least a little scared of being out on a ship because of what happened to her friend.

"The chances now are so low that they are practically zero.  Besides, no pirates can best this ship.  She's one of the fastest on the seas, and well armed."

"Is that why you have two ships?" she wondered, continuing to twirl her parasol.

"One cannot be too careful," he returned, smiling down at her.  "It was a necessary precaution, one we luckily did not have to use." 

"Well, I am quite glad that my safety has been of utmost importance."

He tipped his hat to her.  "Of course, my lady.  Any pirates who would even dare come near us would be destroyed in no time.  Nothing can match either of these ships."  Standing tall and proud, he added, "And both of them together is too formidable for any lowly pirate to stand."

"I am relieved that any scoundrels who would try to attack are no match for you."  She mopped her brow delicately, shifting her parasol slightly as she and the captain were now walking in a different direction, the sun beating down on her side, instead of her back.

"Put all your fears to rest, my lady.  Soon you will be in the Caribbean with your new husband, in your mansion, safe from any threat."

_Sounds wonderful,_ a bitter voice said in her head.  _And please tell me, sir__, where is the adventure in that?_

"I am truly glad for that," she purred, the smile she had been trained to use when she was angry coming to her face, lighting up her eyes.

He gave her a genuine smile back, and their walk went on in silence.  She was sure that no matter what scoundrels decided to attack, the ships were more than capable of taking care of that sort of vileness.

Just the thought of pirates attacking made her smirk slightly, her smile turning somewhat humoured.  It would prove to be exciting, saying that she had been part of a fight with pirates.  There was no doubt the English would win: that's why she would have no problem with it.  She would get her adventure, but she would be safe.  That would have to pacify Jennifer's memory, for even she would not want her friend's life risked too much.

"Is something funny?" the captain asked in a pleasant tone.

"Oh, sir, I was only considering those fools who chose a life of evil and Hell and what would happen to them if they dared attack us!"  She shifted her parasol again, to block the sunlight.  The last thing she wanted was a tan.

"Well, there would be fewer wicked men on this Earth if they tried it," he conceded, patting her arm.

"There is an active attempt to rid the seas of pirates, correct?"

"Oh yes.  In fact, your future husband is quite involved in it.  He is a Commodore who despises pirates and works to rid their pestilence from all places."

"He sounds like an _excellent_ man," she sang happily, a bounce in her step.  "I cannot wait to meet him.  I too want all pirates swept from this Earth," she explained unnecessarily.  "They are nothing but a disease on our fair country and colonies.  I am quite pleased with what I have heard about my fiancé.  He is truly a fine match."

They made it back to the helm, Williams bowing and stepping aside when the captain stood beside him, waiting for the wheel.  Rachelle looked around, then gazed out to sea dreamily.  What it would be like to be a sea creature, dancing all day in the waters . . .

Her eyes picked something up on the horizon.  Squinting, trying to make it out, she couldn't quite tell.  

"There's something over there," she said clearly, pointing to the black dot.  One of the men pulled out a telescope and looked in the direction Rachelle was pointing.  He paled and silently handed the instrument to the captain.  He twisted around and grasped the brass body, putting it to his eye.  Looking out to sea, he paled as well then looked rather sick.

Rachelle turned and studied the captain.  "Sir, are you alright?  You look quite ill."

"The Black Pearl," he gulped, clutching the telescope.  "She is coming up fast."

"Should we outrun her, captain?" one of the deck mates asked immediately.

The captain compressed the telescope and handed it back to his soldier, thinking, hand trembling slightly.

"She is the fastest ship in the Caribbean.  But we can make an attempt."  He nodded and whipped back around, hands on the wheel.  "Johnson, Christopher!"

Both men were before the captain in a split second, stock straight.

"Take Miss Clairington down to her quarters, and bring three extra men to guard her."

"Yes sir!"  They saluted and forced her along.  She was too shocked at the sudden fear, the turn of events, to argue immediately.  Three men joined their ranks and they took her down the stairs, opened her door and shoved her in.  She stumbled into the middle of her room, grasping her parasol.  

The five men outside the door stood ready, waiting.

On deck, the captain had given the orders to man the cannons.  Everyone else was to have hands on deck, ready to man the sails.  The other ship, trailing not too far behind, noticed the panic and brought out their own telescope, looking in the direction their sister ship had moments earlier.

They too, followed the same procedure when they saw what was trailing them.  And that what brought along two very dangerous whos.

Hoping like hell that the distance between them was enough for them to get away, for the Black Pearl to not be able to catch up, both vessels raced to the Caribbean.  

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Hey hey!  Mika and I were talking a week or so ago, but we haven't written anything.  However, we did proofread and such.  Ah well.  Anyhoo, here's the new chappie, I hope you enjoyed.  And yes, I do realise that Rachelle can be annoying.  Please remember she's a rich snob and she will be irritating at times.  That's kinda the fun of her character.  But meh, if you don't like her, to each his own eh?  I just thought her little pistol episode was amusing, but meh.  And trust me, the story will all make sense in the end.  The fun, if you couldn't tell for yourself :P is just about to start :D

Please review!  Cookies to those who review! *Bakes a fresh batch of cookies in her attempt to bribe*

Sukkumbus (and the absent Mika – damn university! Lol)


	11. Chapter X – Collision

_Chapter X – Collision_

The door creaked open.  Michael laid there for a moment, eyes shut, waiting to hear someone enter.  But no one did.  He heard footsteps _leaving the room, then someone clamber up the stairs, but that was all.  His eyes flew open, this having happened just as he woke up.  If anyone came in, he wanted to feign sleep.  But . . ._

His door was open.

He looked to it and sat up, immediately realising that his binds had been cut.  They were hanging loosely off Jack's bed.  Someone must have cut them during the night.

Monkey chittered, sitting on the captain's table, watching his master.

"I think, matie, they're lettin' us out," Michael murmured, rubbing his arms then getting out of the bed.  Monkey leapt up and landed heavily on the first mate's shoulder, but sat there like a good pet.

Edging his way out of the captain's quarters, Michael glanced around the corridor.  No one was there, so he headed to the staircase.  Immediately he realised how much better he was feeling and that he was in a lot less pain.  A bit of an ache filled his body, but not much else.

Making it up the steps with relative ease (at least compared to his earlier escapades), the hatch already open, he climbed up onto deck.  Monkey stayed put, but swayed a bit with his master's movements.  He chastised Michael for moving him around so much, but was ignored.  The young man's eyes swept across the deck, up to the helm where Jack was standing, focused on something in the distance.  Then his kholed eyes blinked, trailing slowly to where Michael stood, although not moving another part of his body.

"Matie!" he cried, finally moving and waving him over, "look here."  He proffered a battered telescope and waited for Michael to walk over.  When he was standing beside the captain, the first mate took the telescope and peered out into the waters Jack was pointing to.

"A ship," he murmured wickedly, an eager expression coming over his face.

"I gave the orders for ye to leave yer room," he gave Michael a look, "savvy?"

"Yes sir," Michael clipped, strolling to the mainmast, where a few men were working.  He held out the telescope and gave his orders.  "Git in the crow's-nest and keep watch."

One of the men nodded and took the telescope, then slowly climbed up the mast.  Michael continued walking to the bow and kneeled down at the very end, using his hand to shield out the sun to see better.  Monkey imitated him on his shoulder.  He had one knee on the wood, his other knee bent up, supporting him.  He watched, staying in this position, trying to judge how fast the other ship was going.  Of course it didn't matter, because the Pearl was the fastest ship in the Caribbean, but he just wanted to figure out how long it would take them to catch up.

"We're startin' to gain distance!" the pirate in the crow's-nest shouted down to Michael and the captain.  Jack stood at his wheel, pleased as punch with a maniacal smile on his face, as Michael's muscles began to cramp up.  But no matter.  Pushing himself to the limit would get his body working in no time.  He had no choice, anyway.  The captain let him out for this, and he would prove that it was not a mistake.

 It wasn't until the Pearl began chopping through the waves that Michael realised how fast they were going.  And the speck of ship that had been pretty much the same size for the past five minutes was rapidly growing larger.

When the ship was in full view and they were no more than five minutes to catching them, the first mate realised something.

Sliding down onto the deck, he ran back to the wheel, Monkey screeching unhappily.

"Cap'n!" he gasped, clutching his chest.

"What?"

"It's not one ship, it's two!"

Jack paused and looked up at Michael with a slightly thoughtful expression.  Then he grinned with a smirk.  "Then ye take one, and I take the other, savvy?"

"Yes sir," he said quickly, sharing the same zealous grin.  They nodded to each other and bowed away.  For them this wasn't work, it was time to play.

Michael returned to the middle mast and shouted up it, "Git yer scurvy arse down 'ere!"  Lowering his face to the crew, he took a deep breath and roared, "_All 'ands on deck!_"

There was a flourish of movement and Michael clapped his hands behind his back, chest out.  He paced before the assembled group, Jack still happily at the helm.

"Al'ight men," he growled, "we have two ships ter plunder.  The cap'n and me, we're splittin' this up.  Half of ye come wit me, the other half go wit the cap'n.  Got it?"

They nodded and split up.  One group was slightly larger than the other, but that was alright.  Jack probably could have taken on a whole ship by himself.  Or at least would try if given the chance.

When they were coming upside the two ships, one of them slightly behind the other – the pirates suspected it was for safety – Michael went to his group and Jack joined his.  Both leaders walked out onto a plank each and waited to close the distance.  By now, the English had figured out that they couldn't run any longer and began firing at the Black Pearl and her crew.

"Stop puttin' holes in my ship!" Jack shouted at them, hating it when the Pearl was hurt.  Turning to his first mate, he commanded, "Now!" and both he and Michael sprung up into the air, flying onto the decks of the ships from the air.

The soldiers stared, open mouthed at Jack as he landed on one foot, bringing the other around for balance.  He lifted his arms in a half shrug.

"You're Jack Sparrow," one of them spat, the group moving closer.

"Ah," he said, taking his hat off and bowing slightly, "that's _Captain Jack Sparrow."  He returned his hat to his head as his men ran across a plank they had set up between the Pearl and the English ship.  Jack was surrounded by his pirates and they started fighting._

Michael, on the other hand, landed nimbly like a cat, eyes darting about.  His men (and Anamaria) gathered onto the ship, across a plank they had also set up.  

"Search fer booty," he shouted, "kill who ye need ta.  No quarter!"  With that he whipped out his pistol and drew his sword, running across the deck.  It was an all-out battle, redcoats and pirates both going down.  Michael sent a group of his crew to search out the areas below deck then told Anamaria to take over the helm with whomsoever she chose.  She nodded, cutlass firmly gripped in her hand, and set off.  As she was fighting her way through the throngs and for control of the ship with her group of men, the search-and-destroy group got down the stairs, Michael taking control above them.  Once deeper in the ship, they looked around a bit.  Then the pirates noticed five soldiers standing guard of a door.

The soldiers turned and began firing, killing one of the pirates.  The others lunged, killing eagerly, wanting to see what they were guarding.  It had to be masses of gold; or if the captain was really lucky, _rum._

When five solders and two pirates lay on the ground, bleeding and dead, the two pirates still standing threw open the door.

Their jaws dropped.

Michael dodged between warring men, was skimmed by bullets and blades a few times then clapped Thomas on the shoulder, startling the man.  The first mate was nearly run through by the cabin boy who turned, reacting automatically, ready to stab; but he quickly halted when he saw who it was.  His cutlass lowered to his side, almost seeming to droop.  Michael snarled, but said:

"Ye were in university, right boy?"

"Yes, why?" he said as he retracted his cutlass.

"Don't question me boy!"  He spat on the deck.  "Ye learned about ships, right?"

"Well, yes."

"Then git on the Pearl and keep 'er steady!"  He pushed Thomas away and took his place fighting.  Thomas leapt over to the Pearl, dodging men like Michael had earlier and took control of the helm.  The Pearl steadied out as British soldiers were knocked out, killed and disarmed.  Before an hour was up, Michael walked around the deck, very happy.  Many of the men were bound and miserable – it would have been too much to kill them all in one go so they killed who they could, binding up others when possible and tossing them aside for later disposal.  The first mate had, after all, called no quarter for these dogs.  So along he strolled, casually slitting throats as he pleased, watching the blood ooze out of the men, eyes glazing over.  His eyes however, were lit up and fascinated.  He couldn't be more content. 

Jack and the rest of the crew bounded over to the ship Michael was on, finished on their end.  It was just extra protection for this ship, although they wouldn't say why, even after Jack killed a few soldiers.  So, figuring there were more important things here, they leapt over, letting the other ship escape: it didn't matter to him anyway.  If they told Norrington what happened, so be it.  He and his crew were already hunted down, and he had tried for a long time to capture Jack anyway.  An appearance by the Commodore would be nothing new.  So the other ship sailed away with a fair number of corpses on it.

"Monkey!"

Monkey ran through the ship at the sound of his master's voice, bag around his neck as usual.  He leapt up onto Michael's shoulder and dropped the bag into his hand.  

"Good Monkey," he said inattentively, feeling the weight of the bag. 

Jack surveyed the ship then began gesticulating as he spoke.  "Fer someone's who's been locked away fer months on end, ye did a good job, lo . . . lad."

Smirking, Michael stuffed the bag into his pocket.  Just then they heard screaming and the sounds of men coming up stairs.

The two pirates who had been part of the search group Michael had sent came up on deck, one with a woman thrown over his shoulder.  They put her down, but held her wrists firmly as she attempted to struggle, still shrieking.

"We found 'er down there, sirs."

Michael studied her, eyes widening for a split second, before smothering all reactions.

"Bring her over," he sneered as a few other pirates went below to take up where their compatriots had left off.  He rolled a smoke and lit a match with his dirt encrusted nail.  Puffing, he looked around then jerked his head towards the Black Pearl.  A moment later, the three pirates who had gone into the bowels came up with a few bottles of rum.  They poured it over the deck as Michael glanced at Jack.  The captain nodded painfully and took the crew back to their ship.  A few crates were tossed onto the Pearl, but nothing major.  It didn't seem that much booty had been on the ship but what there was, they had gathered.  They didn't bother speaking to their captain or first mate about it, just ran off the English ship.  As Michael finished his cigarette, he went to the plank and stood there, picked some lint off his pants, then tossed the glowing paper onto the alcohol soaked ship.  He went casually over to the Pearl, hopped off the bulwark and clapped his hands together a few times, brushing them off even as a fire roared and heated his back.

He turned to the men.  "Open the crates," he spat impatiently, moving to Jack, standing beside him.  They froze when two of the crates were filled with woman's things and only one of the crates had rum in it.

The situation seemed to finally dawn on the woman.  "My dresses!"

Michael's jaw dropped open as he sank to his knees.  "The gold!"  Where were the crates the men were _supposed to grab?_

Jack was nearly in tears as he sank down beside his first mate.  "_The rum!"_

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Hmm, I wonder what's in store for everyone?  Hmmm . . . Again, Mika is no where to be found.  But I will find her!  I vow it!  And um, cookies to Sweet A.K, surge1 and Lottie du Bois.

Damn, look at all those other bloody stories!  Hundreds of reviews *pouts* not bloody fair!  

Pllleeeeeaaasse! Review! *hands out more cookies*

Sukkumbus and [the absent] Mika

(PS: I was actually considering making this two chapters or something, I might do that later … what do you guys think? Stretching this out a bit more?)


	12. Chapter XI – Mistaken Identity

_Chapter XI – Mistaken Identity_

Michael patted Jack on the back sympathetically.

"We got _some_ rum, sir."

Jack nodded pathetically and stood along with his first mate.  Then he went to the helm, Michael following along and standing a half-step behind him.

Rachelle looked wildly around her.  These men were horribly barbaric, dirty, smelly (although there was a woman, but she didn't seem much better than the rest) and that captain and whom she suspected was his first mate (her little lesson on the now-burning and sinking ship taught her _something_) looked even worse.  By God, they were wearing _makeup!_  And what was with their hair?  Not only that, what was _in their hair?  Beads and feathers . . . the captain had a coin she could tell, but the taller man had what looked like a tooth dangling from his._

What was happening dawned on her then.  Her ship was sinking fast with most of her possessions.  The others had run off like dogs with their tails between their legs.  And she was on the Black Pearl.  Gulping, she realised the full extent of all this.  She had been kidnapped by pirates.  _Pirates!  The scum of the earth, the worst things to ever pass God's gaze.  And they were all leering at her, grabbing at her dress.  Screaming anew and lashing out in any possible way, kicking and thrashing, she attempted to escape._

Jack knew what she was trying to do and just snickered.  "Where ya gonna go, love?  Back to yer fine ship than?"

She slowed down and glared at him.

"There's a lass."

Michael hadn't said anything; he was just staring, unable to believe what he was seeing.  Nervously he began picking more lint off his trousers, rolling it between his fingers and dropping it to the deck.

Peering at the first mate once she had tired herself out, Rachelle's heart skipped a beat.  He did that just like . . .

"Jennifer!" she cried, trying to break free of the men holding her.

"Cap'n?" a crewman by the side said, his voice breaking through the shock, everyone shaking it off, "there seems to be a dog swimming beside the ship."

"That's my dog!" the woman screamed.

They all looked up at the lone Jack, who shrugged.  "Git it."

Rachelle frowned, Michael standing from tugging at his boots, and tried again.

"Jennifer!"

Everyone looked at the captain, who was still standing alone.  He looked about as befuddled as they did.  Michael scooped Monkey up who had been running around his feet like a brat.

"Jennifer!  It's Rachelle!" she cried at the pirates behind the wheel.  The crew looked back at the captain who was _very confused.  Monkey had pick-pocketed his master and Michael grabbed his bag up off the floor then stood up, noticing that everyone was staring strangely at the woman._

"I think she thinks the cap'n's a woman," one of the larger men whispered loudly, sounding both alarmed and bemused.

That made Michael snort and turn to Jack.  "Did the fight tire you out, Jacklyn?"

The crew howled at their captain's stunned expression.  Rachelle didn't laugh, however, she went red.  Michael studied her, expression hard.  He hopped off the helm, to the deck and strolled jauntily to her, tossing his purple loot filled bag in the air.  Monkey chattered on his shoulder, staring at the woman.

She tried to back up, but was met with the stinking but generally very firm bodies of pirates.  

He took her chin in his grubby hand, smirking as his blue eyes scanned her face.  She stared back up at him, green eyes trailing along the fading scars.

Leering at the men, he said, "She stays in my room and no one touches her.  Savvy?"

The crew laughed and lifted her up onto their shoulders, agreeing immediately.

"Take her things down to my cabin and leave 'em outside my door.  I'll bring them in me self."  He licked his lips, studying her squirming, fighting body.

"Gonna pass 'er around afterwards, matie, Cutthroat sir?  Once yer done wit her, o' course?"

Michael shrugged, tossing his loot up a few more times.  "Perhaps."  He snorted and turned to the captain.  "If Jacklyn's delicate constitution will allow it."

Jack glowered at his first mate who just shrugged nonchalantly and returned his gaze to his fellow pirates.

"But fer now: ye touch her, I slit ye."

The men nodded and took her across the deck to the hatch.

"Cutthroat?!" the woman yelped, being hauled down the stairs, the men procuring a few, healthy glimpses of her legs, but intent on obeying Michael's orders.

Chuckling, Jack walked to Michael and patted him on the shoulder.

"Good show lo . . . lad.  Good show.  Now crack open that rum."

Rachelle sat on the dirty, ragged bed in Cutthroat's room, trembling.  Jennifer had been brought to her, along with her two trunks.  The dog was soaked and lying on the even dirtier floor beside her.  Although she wanted to cry, Rachelle was too scared to even begin.  She didn't know what to do.  Perhaps beg for her life, saying that if she was returned safely her father would pay.  The Commodore too.  Pirates always thought with their greed, didn't they?

The door opened after an hour of her silent, scared contemplation.  Cutthroat entered his room, went to the far corner and cleared off something.  He then grabbed it; it was rather large and opened it up.  Then he and began filling it with the things he had taken off it, and the things seeming to surround it.  When finished this eccentric work, he walked right back out, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

Well, that had been strange to say the least.  She was so shocked at his behaviour – he hadn't even _leered_ at her – that she just stared at the shut door, confused.

The way he had stared at her earlier, the way the others had been grabbing, talking and laughing made her sure she was going to be raped the first change they got.  And there had been his chance.

What was going on?

Dropping the crate in the corner of the captain's room, he set everything inside it up quickly around and on top then went to Jack's bed.  He grabbed the rum away from him, and finished the bottle off.

"Ye'll need that," Jack grumbled, taking a fresh bottle out of the crate beside his bed.

"Aren't any of the crew gettin' any?" Michael wondered, realising that the captain had taken all the rum they had.

With a sneer, the captain asked, "I thought that was up to ye?"

Michael rolled a cigarette, spat on the floor and snapped, "Very funny."

Smirking, happy to put his first mate on edge – revenge for the Jacklyn cracks – he nodded towards the corner.  "Whyja bring that in here?"

"She's a Christian."  Michael looked at Jack meaningfully.  "Savvy?"

He nodded and drank deeply.  "Savvy, mate," he mumbled past the opening of the bottle.

That night, Rachelle lay with her hands behind her head, staring up at the boring ceiling.  Cutthroat still hadn't come into his room, hadn't recognised her (so she knew it had been a moment of idiocy on her part), and she was becoming very confused.  The events of the day, her situation and the uncertainty kept her from being bored.  In fact, her mind was racing and unable to grasp a single train of thought.  However, later into the night, she understood why Cutthroat hadn't entered his room yet.  She could hear him working with the captain next door.  

Turning over in the filthy bed, she rolled her eyes, wondering why men had to be so loud all the time.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Well, Mika is still MIA.  Oh well, she'll turn up somewhere.  *Sends out search party.*  And  to r80: if it hasn't been explained yet, there's a reason :P  Something that prominent isn't there by mistake, I can assure you of that.  Sorry if I'm vague or sound mean or condescending, but I want to give away no hints or clues or meanings.  Neither does Mika.  It's all eventually explained.

Please review?  

Sukkumbus and the absent Mika 


	13. Chapter XII – Dining with Pirates

_Chapter XII – Dining with Pirates_

Rachelle woke up the next morning completely famished.  She groaned, waking up, realising that she had slept in her clothing.  Stretching and yawning, she swung her legs around to the side of the bed and put them down.  Right onto something warm and soft; or at least softer than the grimy wooden floor.

Pulling back immediately, worried that she had stepped on her puppy, she leaned over and peered down, just as a deep groan came from where her feet had been.  Looking over the edge, she saw Michael sleeping on the floor, in what she assumed was a rather uncomfortable position.  He flopped over onto his back as his eyes fluttered open, looking almost innocent.  If it weren't for the tan and scars, she could have believed it.

Reaching up onto his table, Michael yanked down a leather bag as he sat up.  Rachelle watched curiously as he opened the pouch and pulled a small piece of paper out of it.  Then he pinched some dried herbs into it and rolled it up.  Next thing you knew, he had a match out, lighting the end of it and was puffing away.

"What is that?" she whispered softly.  

His eyes travelled to hers.  Then he studied her cinched body, wondering how she could breathe.  How she could even _move.  But he answered anyway._

"It's tobacco.  Ye come across all sorts o' strange things on yer travels.  Started smokin' it, and can't stop now."  He shrugged, dragging himself up off the dirty floor, seemingly oblivious to the grime caked onto his body and clothes.  She flinched back at the thought of someone being so grubby and not caring.  Not even noticing.

He wiped his hands off on his trousers, then his torso, wincing slightly.  She didn't ask about that, thinking that questioning a pirate on why he was wincing would be a bad idea.  

Now she could get out of bed.  Jennifer hopped out of her bed at the end of the pirate's own, and wound herself around Rachelle's legs repeatedly.

"Nice dog," Cutthroat said calmly as Monkey bound onto his shoulder.  Rachelle just stared at the monkey in disbelief.

Noticing her stare, he said gruffly, "This is my monkey, Monkey."  He nearly keeled over in shock when she dipped into an automatic curtsey, borne through years of training.  When "this is . . ." is said, you curtsey.

Seeming to realise what she had just done, a flush began to colour her cheeks.  That was until Monkey dipped into a bow, speaking to her in his own animal tongue.  Giggling, she reached out and shook his paw.

"Nice to meet you, Monkey."

He attempted to repeat the sounds.

"Enough," Michael snarled at his pet who gave him a reproachful glare.  He turned and strode to the door, to leave the room.  However, he was unable to as Rachelle asked before he exited:

"I am ever so hungry; when do we eat?"

He stopped and replied, back to her.  "Pirates eat only at night.  The rest of the time we're too busy to eat proper.  We jus' snatch things as we go, love."

Finding it odd to be referred to as "love", especially by a brute like this, she was slightly taken aback.  But she didn't argue what he said, just ignored it as best she could.

"But I happen to be a lady," she said, head high, gathering her skirts about her, "of high breeding.  I expect to be fed."

"Fine," he snapped, "wait here."  And with that, he left, Monkey turning on his shoulder to bow again to Rachelle.  She giggled some more, putting her hand to her mouth.  That was a very strange animal.  Not only was it a beast with fine manners, but somehow he had learned on a ship full of pirates who wouldn't recognise good manners if they danced naked on deck.

Minutes later, she heard stomping back to the door.  In it appeared Cutthroat with a pirate who looked just as fierce, but a good half-foot shorter.  The man was massive and she suspected it was mostly muscle.  He seemed quite adverse, with a great, deep scar down his right cheek.  His arms were covered in tattoos and more scars; she knew this because his shirt had the sleeves ripped off, exposing his arms.  When he swatted Monkey away, who had leaned over to chatter in his ear, she noticed that two of his fingers were missing.  On his left hand.

He also had something that Michael did not: a gold earring in his right ear.  On top of that she noticed, that unlike the captain and Cutthroat who had long hair with some sort of twists running through it and items strung together, he had no hair on his head at all.  As well, unlike the captain and first mate, he did not have any makeup around his eyes.

But he sure was dirty! 

"This is James," Michael said quickly.  "He's the cook on this here ship."

Surprisingly, he smiled kindly and gave Rachelle a half-bow.  She curtsied automatically back, which in turn, surprised him.

"C'mere, fine lady," he said in a deep voice that matched his figure.  She went over timidly.  "I ain't gonna hurtcha."  Looking to Michael he said with a smirk, "On strict orders, we are.  Couldna hurcha if I wanted ter."

"Remember that," Michael said lowly, clapping him on the shoulder.  Then he turned to leave but was halted yet again when the cry of:

"_I'm outa rum!_" sounded through the corridor.  Michael growled, rolling his eyes – would he ever get his ass on deck?  Jack walked by, an empty bottle of rum in his hand.  He shook it in front of Michael's face.  "Why are we outa rum, lo . . . lad?"

"We'll gitcha more, cap'n," he said with a smirk, stepping aside to leave his room.  Right then, when the path to the captain was clear and Rachelle spotted him, she dropped into yet another curtsey.

Jack's kohled eyes widened and he pointed at her.  "Did she jus' _curtsey to me?!"_

Michael looked from the captain to Rachelle and back again, then shrugged.  "It seems so, Jack . . . lyn."  Flashing everyone a broad grin, he sped out of there, and went up on deck.  Seeing as the captain wasn't there, he was especially needed.  Jack just shook his head, casting Rachelle a wary eye, and ambled off, on a desperate search for more rum – he had to have a hidden stash _somewhere!_

James smiled again at Rachelle and led her out of the room, then through the ship.  They entered a room similar to the one she had been in when searching for Jennifer on her now destroyed ship.

"Is this the kitchen?" she wondered, looking around the nearly identical, but much more messy and smelly room.

"Galley, Miss.  It's a galley."

"Oh."

"And aye, it is."  He walked around, trying to find something for her to eat.  "Ye say yer hungry, lass?"

"Of course I am!"

"We 'ave some bread here."  He lifted up a loaf of partially stale bread.

She wrinkled her nose, but walked over anyway.

"Ever 'ad honey befer, love?"  Pulling out a jar from a ramshackle cupboard, he handed it to her. 

"A few times," she admitted in awe, "but it is a delicacy!"

"Aye.  We're pirates, only tha best fer us," he said, smirking.

"So you pilfered it then," she murmured, setting it down as if it were dangerous.

He opened his mouth to answer, but noticed her expression and decided to tone it down to her level.  "Ye could say that, aye."

She knew that honey never seemed to go bad, so allowed herself a few slices of bread with it slathered on.  It was ironic, she thought, to have something her friends would consider in the absolute height of posh so casually on a pirate ship.

James smiled.  "Good, Miss?"

She mumbled through the food in her mouth, went red and covered her mouth and nose daintily with her hand.  Swallowing she was then free to reply, "Yes, thank you so much."

He grunted, shifting his weight.  "Tha's what I'm 'ere for."

She curtsied to him, then let him lead her out of the galley.  

Rachelle spent all day on deck, shaded by her parasol to avoid burning and tanning, watching the men work, or staring out at the sea.  She had to admit that this was a lot more interesting than being forced to stay in her cabin, although quite unconventional.  Plus, the stink wasn't as bad out here as it was in the hull.  The men reeked God awful and it really made her sick.  She would have to remember to carry a pomander ball around if she could get the things she needed.  Or at least a scented handkerchief.  Luckily one of the things "saved" by the pirates was her crate of personal effects, so she had her perfumes and such on her.

That night, because the sea was as fine and smooth as a piece of expensive glass, and the sky was completely clear, the crew had dinner all together, instead of in shifts.  There was nothing for them to crash into, no danger of them being blown way off course and no ships in the distance, so it was safe for them to dine as one group.  The table in the galley, all the preparation things and leftovers shoved off or stored away, was covered in food.  Chairs surrounded the stained table, more marked and pitted than the one on the ship Rachelle was from.

She sat at one end, being their "guest" and the captain sat on the other, Michael to his left, at the corner.  Watching in horror as the men grabbed food off the beat up silver serving trays, using their daggers to spear food and eating it right off the blade no less, she could not bring herself to eat.  Her fork was held daintily in one hand, her knife in the other, ready to take her food and eat, but with all these manners – or lack thereof – she couldn't move.  She was too stunned.

After a few minutes, however, the impolite grumbling of her stomach (which couldn't be heard over the grunts and chewing of the men) forced her to pick some food off of the platters nearest her and put it down on her plate.  She couldn't even understand why the men used plates; it seemed that everything they ate went into their hands, then mouths, and just bypassed the whole plate step.

She ate carefully and slowly, back straight with perfect posture, nary a body part touching the table.  All the pirates had their elbows on the table and were leaning over their dishes.  They periodically drank from flasks, although the captain seemed disappointed.  She remembered that there was little to no rum, and for some reason that upset him.  Perhaps he didn't bring whatever he had left to dinner because he didn't want to share.

Watching as food fell from their mouths, knifes, hands or off the bone, she realised that the plates were there to catch their food, not to hold it.

That was revolting. 

But she continued eating anyway, trying to ignore everyone around her.  It was only a few seconds before her attention was grabbed, though.  Snarling was heard from the end of the table, then strings of words she could only assume were cuss words, as she had never heard them before.

Jack speared the piece of meat Michael had just stuck his knife into.

"That's mine," the captain spat.

"Mine," Michael growled back.  They each took their hands off their daggers at the same time, holding their hands up.  Then, in unison and in the exact same way, they each went for a large drumstick off the half-eaten bird at their end.  Eyes locked as if this was a battle to the death, they began duelling, periodically taking bites out of their "weapons of choice", meat falling all around, with Monkey clapping happily from Cutthroat's shoulder, egging the men on.

"Really!" Rachelle exclaimed, fed up with the horrific manners as she slammed her palms on the table.  "That is quite enough!"

Everyone looked at her and she cleared her throat daintily.  Jack and Michael stared with wide eyed matching expressions, their drumsticks still in the air.  Then turning, Michael's face iniquitous, he swept his drumstick across Jack's throat, then took a big bite of the meat, looking quite smug.  Rachelle could only see the corner of the first mate's mouth for the meat, but she thought that he wore a playful smile, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth.  

With a sigh, the captain hacked out the cut of meat they both wanted, and dropped it in his first mate's plate, still with his knife sticking out.  Michael pulled it out, pocketed it then finished his drumstick.  Once he was done that and had chucked the bone to the floor, he dug into the meat he had won.

Absolutely revolted now, Rachelle stood up, the crew's eyes following her.

"I will take my meal to my room," she said clearly over the din.

"My room," Michael snarled into his food, any pretence of glee gone.

She made a face.  "Your room."  Turning to look at the cook she said, equally clear, "James, would you please make me a plate and bring it to _Cutthroat's_ room when you're done."  Giving the group one last glare, she swept up, nose in the air.

Michael snickered.  "Careful James, or we'll all find out yer really a woman," he took a swig of his drink and a ferocious bite of meat, "like poor Jacklyn here."  He grinned viciously at the cook and took another bite.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Ah, Pirates.  That's all I really have to say.  Mika and I haven't done any writing since what, August?  *Beats Mika over the head with a rubber fish*  Get online damn you – or over to my house, that'd be better – so we can do more work on the sequel!!!

*Sighs*

Please review

Sukkumbus and the absent Mika

Ohhhhhhh . . . *checked out the reviews before posting and I realised I had something to say.*  To the person who said:

JAL Williams 

2003-11-04 

3 

Anonymous

not mary sue? she seems as mary sueish as a girl can get...just a thought...

 Heh.  I wonder if he/she/it read the whole story.  OH WAIT.  Chapter three?  Piddling.  I figure he/she/it thinks he/she/it knows the whole bloody story and can tell me everything about Rachelle and Michael, because OBVIOUSLY they know more about mine and Mika's characters than we do.

Stupid sod.  Mary Sue my ass.  Hm, she acts like she should, she's a spoiled rich brat who's completely oppressed by the men in her life . . . REAL PERFECT!! *sarcasm sarcasm*

Ohhh, but let me guess.  The fool thinks that this story is the same as many of the others.  Rich girl + Jack = story.  

WRONG

You will all see.

Sukkumbus 


	14. Chapter XIII – Half and Half

_Chapter XIII – Half and Half_

The room was pretty dark and the corners even darker, hidden in shadow.  Everything had the appearance of being well used, well worn, and quite dirty.  She had no idea how she had managed to get herself into the disgusting corner in her pretty pink dress, but she had.  Neither did she know why.  Perhaps instinct to hide, to never be found.  For an escape.  True she had wanted adventure, but this was a tad extreme.

Putting her palm against the gritty floor, she winced, but moved herself further back, squishing further into the spot where the two walls met.  The very spot Cutthroat had removed that box of his.  It was deplorably soiled which appalled her, and when she brushed her hand off on her skirts, she left trails of black.  But at least she was safe, hidden in the corner.  Or she felt she was.

The door creaked open and she winced again, praying that whoever it was wouldn't see her.  Cutthroat strode into his room, closed the door behind him then sat on his bed.  One thing Rachelle noticed when he entered was that he was wearing about half his clothes, the other half draped over his arm.  Now they were bunched up on his legs.  He reached over to a little table beside his bed and opened the small drawer.  From that he pulled out a needle and threat.  Carefully and with surprising patience he put the thread through the tiny eye of the needle, and grabbed the shirt in his lap with the other hand.  Doubling up the thread then starting to sew the bloody tear in his clothes, which was too large to leave ripped as pirates usually did, he never looked up.  He never even noticed that she was in the room.  They sat in their spots, Michael sewing, Rachelle inconspicuous, for a long time.  When finished, breaking the thread with his teeth after knotting it off properly (which she found strange: what man knew how to do that?), he tossed the shirt aside and started on another one.  Another bloody slash in his clothes let her know he must have got these during battle.  Yet he walked around as if he had no wounds and felt no pain – and that must have been why he winced in his room the previous morning.  Again, this rip was too big to be left alone and he resumed sewing.  Ten minutes or so passed, and he shifted his body.

Something hit the floor and rolled a bit, then skidded towards Rachelle.  Michael's head whipped up, following the sound, eyes glinting.

Picking up the half of the black pearl, the young woman nearly started bawling.  She stood hastily and came out of the shadows, making Cutthroat jump up, knife at the ready, clothes cast onto the bed.

"Whaterya doin' hidin' like that girl?" he snarled, eyes darting from her to her hand, where his pearl was grasped.

"Jennifer?" she whispered, the sobs welling up, choking her throat.  A massive lump was stuck there and she couldn't swallow it down.  Her hand gripped her friend's half pearl, identical to her own but without the silver along the edge, as tears flooded her eyes, pouring down her cheeks.

"I dunno what yer talkin' 'bout," he spat, swiping at her hand.  "Give it here, girl.  Don't try my patience, savvy?"

She cocked her head and said, "I do not know what savvy means, but I know that you _have to be Jennifer.  How else could you have this?  Why are you denying it?"_

"Give me that!" he roared, grasping her wrist in his large, calloused hand.  She could feel his darkly tanned flesh scratching her delicate pale skin.  Could feel him crushing her bones, ready to reduce them to powder.

But she didn't relent.

"Jennifer, it is Rachelle.  Why are you being so mean?  Why are you pretending you don't know who I am?"

He stared blankly at her.  "I don't know who ye are, lass . . ." a contemplative look came over him, his eyes glazing over slightly, "but I think I now know what yer talkin' 'bout."  Dropping her arm, he sat back on his bed, gathered up his clothes and resumed sewing.  Rachelle nursed her wrist, frowning at him, drawing back slightly.  

He glanced up at her.  "Can I have my pearl back?"

"It is mine!"

"Wrong.  It was yer friends, who I plundered it from.  It belongs to me, woman!"

Whimpering and having no choice, Rachelle handed it over.  She didn't like the sound of "was" and "plundered".  Nor did she like how he said woman.

"Ye can sit or ye can stand, it doesna bother me."  He just went on sewing as he spoke, launching into his tale.  "When I was cabin boy here we found a girl.  She was about me age."  He looked thoughtful.  "About twelve years ago, it was."

Rachelle felt a sinking in her heart and stomach.

"Anyway, ouch," he said suddenly, pricking his finger.  He shook his hand then continued sewing.  "Anyway, the men dragged her into the middle of the deck and ripped off mosta 'er clothes."

The tears of joy sliding from Rachelle's eyes quickly turned into cold, hateful tears.

"I was too young to join in but I sat, watchin'.  As they raped her, somethin' came out of her clothes and rolled righ' by me.  I grabbed it and . . . there it is."  He nodded towards the pearl.

"No," she whispered, sinking to her knees.  "That cannot be true!"

Michael shrugged, finishing his sewing.  "Then they tossed her half-dead body off the ship and let 'er drown."

"But . . . you lie!  She could swim!"

He made a face.  "'Ow in hell were we suppos' to know?  The blood prob'ly attracted sharks anyway."  Smirking, he tacked on, "And she was in no condition to swim."

"You evil, vile, disgusting . . ." she didn't know what else to add, so just screamed and leapt up.  Michael didn't move, even when she fled his room.  

The men were under order from him to do nothing to her.  They'd have to face him if they did.  And none of them wanted to face him.  Or so he convinced himself.

Rachelle stormed through the small, stinking corridors deep in the ship.  Tears slid down her cheeks as she hiccupped, not wanting to cry outright.  She was too enraged to start sobbing.  All hopes of Jennifer maybe being alive were completely dashed.  Cutthroat had seen it, he had been _there.  He knew too much to be lying.  It was the same as had been told to her.  Found, raped and thrown overboard.  She couldn't believe it.  She didn't want to.  All these years she had nursed that tiny little hope that she would see her friend one day._

_"Never say never,"_ they had both said.  But now she would _never_ see her friend again.  _Never.  And there was no denying that.  _

"Whata we got 'ere, boys," a leering voice said to accompany the body Rachelle had just slammed into.  Looking up, she was staring at three ugly, dirty pirates with too much muscle and tan.  And tattoos, they all had tattoos from what she could tell.

She gulped and backed up a step as she brought her hands together and pressed them to her chest.  They advanced on her, grinning eagerly.

One licked his lips and said, "Cutthroat ain't 'round.  'E'll ne'er know we played wit 'is toy."

The smaller one of the three, who was still quite large, looked about fretfully.  "Do ye really wanna git Cutthroat's back up?  The lad's mighty mean and woul' hae no qualms wit killin' us if Jack dinna say anythin'."

The other two studied him.

"Then he shouldna 'ave let 'is woman wander around alone," the first one, in the middle, explained slowly.

"'E's gotta point," the one on the right said thoughtfully. 

The middle one, who happened to be the biggest of them, reached out and grabbed her arm with an extremely dirty hand.  Rachelle tried to shrink back, but he wouldn't let her, his grip firm.  In fact, he pulled her closer, removing her hands from her chest and staring right down her dress.

She went bright red.  His hand moved to her breasts and she gasped, trying to scream.  But her throat was clogged with panic.

"I will get Michael," a clear voice said from behind the pirates.  They turned around and sneered.

"It's da university cabin boy.  'Avin' fun bein' tha captain and Cutthroat's bitch?"

He strode up to them, unfazed by their verbal assault.  "Better to be their bitch than their victim," he articulated, "maties."

"We was just gonna play with da love," the smaller of the three pirates responded.

"I think that is up to Cutthroat's discretion," Thomas said clearly, squeezing past them against the wall and standing behind Rachelle.  He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back, the large pirate letting go of her arm.  "I can ask the captain and his first mate what they think, if you would like.  I am sure they would like to have a say in your play time."

The three glowered at him and Rachelle could feel his hands tremble slightly, but not enough to show the pirates he was scared.

"Yer needed on deck," he spat, slang coming automatically to him.  When the three had left, mumbling threats on their way, Thomas turned Rachelle around.

"Th-thank you," she stammered, curtseying.

"My, aren't we polite," he teased, smile on his face.  Then he turned serious.  "Why did you leave Michael's room?"

She shook her head and cast her eyes away, not wanting to speak about it.

"That bad, huh?  Well," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and starting to guide her back, "his room is the only safe place for you.  Besides the captain's quarters, and only Michael is allowed in there."  He paused.  "Sometimes Anamaria, but that's usually in concert with Michael anyway.  But that's beside the point.  Michael is the one who is protecting you.  The lad's actually quite nice, if you get past his visage and his reputation."  Smirking he continued, "And the fact that he has been with our dear Captain Jack Sparrow for twelve years.  That could send anybody up the twist."

Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Rachelle laughed softly.

"There's a girl," Thomas said soothingly.

"Sir, you have rescued me and I have not learned your name."

To that he burst out laughing.  Between outbursts he managed, "Thomas, Miss, my name is Thomas."

Slightly pink, she still gave him a sweet smile.  "Well, Thomas, you may call me Rachelle instead of Miss."

He smiled back down at her, then opened Cutthroat's door and forced her to go in.

"Good-bye, Thomas," she said, still smiling, looking up into his grey eyes.  He had light brown hair and good stature; he looked like he belonged in her class.  He also sounded educated which was a bonus for him.

"Bye, M . . . Rachelle."  He shut the door, leaving her with Michael, who looked lazily up from his bed as his only greeting for his charge.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Sheesh, Rachelle's trying to go from bad to worse, isn't she?  Then again, that Thomas feller seems kinda nice ;)

Mika is no longer MIA!  Woohoo!  She's even (supposed to be) coming over to my place Thursday for my birthday!  (I'm 19 on the 12th which is Friday . . .).  So . . . we'll be writing more for your pleasure!  We're special monkeys, aren't we :D

Please review!

Sukkumbus and the somewhat-absent Mika


	15. Chapter XIV – Hatred and Comfort

_Chapter XIV – Hatred and Comfort_

Sobbing could be heard out in the dank corridor.  James went through the darkness, following the soft sound, until he hit the galley.  Someone was crying in there, and he knew of only one person on board who would actually cry.

"Miss?" he said in a whisper, edging his way into the galley, "Miss, are ye alright?"  He went to the table/island counter where he had dishes stacked up to be washed, food out to be prepared.  There were already dishes stacked up in the old sink, some drip drying on the counter.  Barely able to see her over the things spread out and stacked, he went around to the place she had sat the first and only night she ate with the crew.  The men joked that Rachelle knew that James was a woman just like Jacklyn (which only Michael could say within earshot of the captain, but the men were allowed to snigger) but he didn't mind.  They all knew that for all his harshness and cruelty when fighting, he had a major soft spot as well.  He had his own children and had a daughter not that much younger than Rachelle.  He even saw them as frequently as possible, and his wife, never really agreeing with his chosen profession, never really arguing it either, always welcomed him home with open arms.

The sniffling young woman looked up, eyes bloodshot from tears, nose running.  He handed her his handkerchief, probably the cleanest one on the ship.  He was around relatively clean water all day and had chances to wash it.

Compared to her handkerchiefs it was filthy.  Compared to the rest of the ship, however, it was absolutely pristine.

A thought made her giggle unexpectedly.  At least the pirates didn't march around in lockstep.

Bewildered by this sudden change, James just stood awkwardly, shifting his weight.  Rachelle took the proffered handkerchief politely.  To refuse a hardened man's one moment of kindness would be brutally cruel.  And she knew she wasn't as clean as she used to be.  She had spent too much time in that damnable Cutthroat's room.

Dabbing at her eyes, then wiping her nose and cheeks daintily she cleaned herself up.  She then handed the handkerchief back to the big man.  He pocketed it, deciding that he would clean it later.  Plus, a bit of a lady's snot and tears were nothing compared to some of the things he had been exposed to.

"Thank you," she croaked, her hand fluttering to her mouth in embarrassment at the sound of her voice.

He gave her a crinkled smile.  "Nae a problem, lass.  Ye should have someone not yellin' atchye on this ship."

"A friend," she whispered, eyes shimmering with fresh tears.  Brow furrowing, her melancholy affecting him as he hated to see a young girl, and one reminding him so much of his own, in so much pain.  He did not understand why, but he knew those tears.

"Ye lost a friend?" he ventured.

She nodded and put her head on her arms, bawling.  He backed away slowly.  Here was where his expertise dwindled.

"Would ye like to talk ter someone?" he asked softly.  She shrugged and he went off to find the only pirate on the ship who had a remote chance of understanding her.

Ten minutes or thereabouts and James was back, Thomas in tow.  The green pirate looked from the brute dragging him to the young girl past the stacks of pots, pans and food on the table.

"She's upset about somethin'," James murmured past the back of his left hand.  

"What?" Thomas whispered back over the crying.

"A friend . . . I didna git much more than that, boy."  He pushed the scholar pirate forward.  "Yer of her class, ye should know 'ow to talk to her."

Thomas turned around to argue, saying that men were not taught how to deal with women or girls, except to woo them and get them heavy with child, but by the time he had spun about, James had already fled.

Resigning himself to this, Thomas walked slowly over to the crying woman and touched her arm gently.  Against the others he looked perfectly clean.  But when his skin touched hers, other than the shivers that coursed through him, he realised just how dirty he really was.   He looked brown against her paleness. 

She looked up at him, tears dripping from her eyes.

"Do ye – you, do you need to talk, Mi . . . Rachelle?"

When she inclined her head slightly in a nod, he pulled up a chair and sat down with her.

"Tell me," he whispered, his palm running gently over her forearm.

Sniffing, she said, "I was such a fool."

His eyebrows knotted.  "A fool, why?"  Perhaps she was upset about the day before.

"Because!"  A sob welled up in her throat and broke, and soon she was blubbering without shame.  "Because I always clung onto the hope that my friend was still alive!  I always knew she had been killed, had always been told, but there's always the hope a best friend has . . ." she trailed off, into out-right wailing, her face in her arms once more.

"Your friend is dead?"

She nodded against her arms, his hand under her cheek.  Neither mentioned it, and he didn't bother moving.  Looking up at him once more, meeting his grey eyes with watery green, like the sea itself, she took his silently offered handkerchief.  Mopping herself up, she resumed speaking.

"Twelve years ago she ran away.  We were just eight.  She got onto a merchants ship but it was attacked by pirates."  Her voice cracked and trembled, going up a half-octave.  "She was raped and killed, thrown overboard!  But as a foolish child, I hoped I would see her again some time.  I couldn't understand it!  And that juvenile hope manifested into hope as an adult . . . only to be shattered," she finished dramatically without meaning to, voice barely a low whisper.

"How do you know?" was all he could think of saying.

"Cutthroat told me," she said flatly.

"He was probably getting your goat, love."

She couldn't understand why when he said that it sent chills up her spine.  Then she shook her head.

"No.  He was there.  Watched the whole thing he said."  Her eyes lowered, then her head went along with them.

Thomas stroked back her long red hair, smiling slightly.  "He was playing with you."

"He had the pearl!" she screamed into the table, forehead on her arms. 

"Pearl?"

"Yes!  Jennifer and I each had half a black pearl.  And Cutthroat had it on him, I even held it.  It was the same one, the other half of mine.  And he said he got it from Jennifer while her clothes were being torn off . . ." she trailed off, crying again, "and, and being raped!  And there was no other way for him to get it!"

Realising that there was nothing he could say to go against the first mate's word – Thomas knew he was telling the truth, but hadn't wanted to agree with the cruel man – decided that trying to tell Rachelle a lie would end up being worse.  

"I'm here for you," was all he said as he rubbed her back.

"Thank you," she responded breathlessly.  

"But at least Michael is protecting you from the others.  You do realise that do you not?"

"I hate him!  He was there, he should have stopped it!  I hate pirates!  They murdered my friend!"

"I'm a pirate," he informed her softly.

"You are different," she grumbled.  "You are not bloodthirsty and you have been educated.  You are also of my class.  You are nothing like them."

He studied her, realising then just how naïve she was.

"They are horrid beasts, pirates are.  All of them should be killed."

"But Michael is protecting you.  They killed your friend, it's true, but we have spared you.  A pirate is protecting you from other pirates.  And we would all protect you from other ships.  Do you understand that at least?"

A slight hesitation, then a monotone, "Yes."

"Good."  He stood and offered his arm.  It took her a moment to glance up but when she did, she seemed a slightly surprised.

He gave her a smile.  "Walk with me.  On deck.  Let the fresh sea breeze clear your head."

Standing and giving him a thin smile, she took his arm and let him guide her out of the galley.  They stopped first at Michael's room to grab her only parasol then they went up on deck.  They walked for hours, just bathing in the sunlight and soft wind.  She knew it was horrible for her complexion, but the sun felt so fresh, so good.  For half of their stroll she kept the parasol down, allowing herself to soak up some of the heat, drying her tears.

For now, hanging on Thomas' arm, things didn't seem as wretched.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

How's bout a nice update eh? :D  Mika and I actually wrote some more of the sequel!  *gasp*  Oh, and there's some real good stuff coming up.  Well, it's kinda a progression – I won't give it away, or else Mika will come flying and screaming at me with a knife.  

Tankies for the reviews all.  Oh and . . . please review :D

Sukkumbus and Mika 


	16. Chapter XV – Never Say Never

_Chapter XV – Never Say Never_

Michael looked over at Rachelle who was finishing her dinner at his desk.  He hated that desk.  Any reading or math that had to be done, it was up to him.  To the ship, he had the highest education on board.  Well, that was true until Thomas arrived.  Now the work was up to the cabin boy, but Michael had developed a hatred for his desk that still lingered, even though it was pretty much empty and blank.  At times Thomas had him do simpler things for him, so he could just concentrate on the tougher stuff.  Michael only did it because the Pearl and Jack needed those things done.  He shouldn't have to listen to anyone but the captain, but sometimes positions didn't matter.  The ship mattered and the captain mattered.  And they all worked for him.

She was silent, but it was an odd sort of silence.  She also seemed to be sniffling as her fork raised to her mouth, then lowered between bites.  He just kept throwing pieces of dried fruit around the room for Monkey to fetch and eat.  Once the animal would scamper off and grab a piece, he would sit there and usually hold it in both hands.  Then he would diligently eat it until it was gone.  The next piece of fruit was then thrown.  Monkey really enjoyed this game.

"C-can you please stop throwing food around?" Rachelle whispered, sounding near tears.

Michael sat up frowning, and then rolled himself a cigarette.  "I'm room mates wit ye now, so I wanna know why yer bringin' my morale down."  But he did cease throwing fruit, which made Monkey fly at him angrily and cling onto his face.  Falling back onto the soiled bed, Michael spluttered, trying to pry the miniature beast off him.  After screeching and gnashing of teeth from both parties, and fur and hair going every which way, Michael finally had Monkey off him and in the air by the neck as he sat up.

"Don't do that again!" he shouted.  Monkey seemed to shrug and make a few noises as if brushing his master off and rolling his eyes.  His frown deepening, he dropped Monkey onto the bed and swivelled about, sitting on the edge of his bed.  He lit up his cigarette.

"Did you really see J-Jennifer raped?"  Rachelle held back her tears, biting her knuckle.

Michael hesitated and picked lint off his pants, then dropped it to the floor after rolling it between his fingers.

"Yes," he said softly.

"How could you let that happen?!" she cried, sending Monkey into a shrieking fit.

Michael smacked Monkey to shut him up, making him hit the wall.  Once again, Monkey was latched onto his face and they struggled with each other.  Throwing him off onto the bed, he shouted, "Monkey!" and Monkey replied on automatic, scrambling up him and sitting on his shoulder.

With a sigh, he said, "Much better."

"Why did you watch!?  Why did you not stop them?!"

"How?" he roared, startling Monkey, making him hunch his shoulders.  "By doin' what?  Tellin' them that rapin' is wrong?  It's what we do, love, get used to it."

"No!"

"I was her age!  The crew woulda killed me too," he slurred, desperately trying to explain for some reason, and also wishing he had rum.  Or more precisely, that Jack had rum he could steal.  Stolen rum always tasted better, especially out of the captain's private cache.

"You pirates are dastardly, devilish folk!"

"Yip," Michael said, leaning back on his bed, hands behind his head.  Monkey scrambled up onto his chest to avoid tumbling off his shoulder.  "Ye got us bang on."

"How could you let someone do that to an innocent girl?!"

He shut his eyes, trying to think.

"Have," he said slowly, eyes shut so tight that he could see purple and red splotches amongst the black, "I let ye be attacked?"

"No," she said slowly, turning about in her chair, body perpendicular with his.  She stared at him with her left eye then turned her head to glower straight on.  "But that is because you are saving me for yourself!"  She shuddered and Michael opened his eyes for the sole purpose of rolling them.

"Yer too innocent to know about that.  And yer wrong, girlie, very wrong.  I'm protectin' ye."

"Why would ye do that?"

He shrugged.  "Dunno.  Let's jus' say, ye aren't to my tastes."

A blank stare washed over her.  "Why not?"

"Erm, too . . . not enough . . ." he said as he made vague gestures towards her, "I uh, dunno.  But yer safe with me."  He smirked.

"You are lying!  You are going to ravish me in the middle of the night soon!"

He sat up abruptly, eyes flashing with malice.  "Don't ye think I woulda done ye by now if that was my intent?!"

Monkey watched the argument from his spot on Michael's headboard, turning his head from Rachelle to Michael.

"You are just waiting for my defences to go down!" 

"Defences?" he spluttered, "you have no defences!  Ye do not even understand the bloody danger yer in, even now!"

"Yes I do!  It is from you!"

"No!  A woman like ye cannot be our prisoner.  Yer a guest, but still, to some of the pirates, yer still fresh booty."

She stared at him in apparent disgust.  She was absolutely appalled by what he just said.  Especially since she had a feeling that he was absolutely correct.

"All you pirates are the same!  Sick, twisted fiends who prey on the innocent!"

"You try my patience!" Michael said at the top of his lungs, jumping out of his bed.

"You want to be powerful so you do it in the worst possible way!  You cannot have power with the government, so you make yourself big men by trying to destroy everything in your paths!"

"Now now, there's more to pirating than destruction."

"Name one thing," she rasped in challenge, too forgone in anger to be discomfited about her tone, or her words.  Or the fact that she was yelling and screaming like a banshee.     

Opening his mouth to answer and putting up in finger, he stopped.  One thing?  He was sure there was _something.  _

"Travel?" he offered lamely with a shrug.  He dodged the plate she threw at him, barely getting aside in time as he was so shocked she would physically attack him.  It shattered against his bed and sprinkled to the floor.  Some of it in large chunks, some of it in dust.

"You pig!  I hate you!  I hate all pirates!  You feed on the innocent, on the wholesome, all to serve your own ends!"

Hearing screaming through his wall, Jack had got up and opened the door to his first mate's room, where the shouting was going on.  He drank from one of the last bottles of rum he had stashed away, listening and watching.  It was more entertaining then the rest of the crew at the moment, at least.

"I'm sure that ye will find that not all pirates are bad," Michael said in an attempt to calm her, palms held out flat in as a peace offering.  "Ye may even come to like this crew."

"Your crew is the _worst _of them all!"  A cup followed where the plate had been seconds earlier.  Michael dodged this as well.  Monkey leapt up on to his shoulder, staring at the fuming woman.  

Jack felt proud when she screamed that.  Made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  Or it was the rum.  He shrugged and continued drinking.

"I am _so pleased," she continued to screech, "that my husband wants to destroy all you . . . you . . . good-for-nothings!"  _

"This mus' be a decade of rage pent up, eh love?" he said, smirking.  

"I will give you a decade of pent up rage!" she screamed, throwing a nearly empty inkwell in Michael's direction.  He took one step to the side and it smashed against his bed.  "Now who's this great, bonnie lad who'll get rid of all us terrible pirates?" he cooed mockingly.

"My fiancé, Commodore Norrington!" she yelled right at the first mate.

The two occupants of the room heard a shatter.  They turned to the door and saw Jack standing there, aghast, his bottle of rum having slipped out of his hand.

"Y-yer rum, cap'n," Michael said, almost as shocked as he.

"M . . ._ Me rum!_"  Then he looked up at Rachelle, eyes wild.  "Yer marrying the Commodore?!"  Glancing over at Michael, he backed away slowly.

"Looks like ye got another one, cap'n."

Jack snickered then stared down at the puddle of rum and glass.  Then he stomped off to his room, wondering why all his rum had to be nearly gone.

"I will make sure he kills every single one of you!" Rachelle shouted at Michael.  "I hate you!  Pirates are horrible!  He will rid you from this earth for me!"

"Ye poor women, ne'er allowed to express anything but happiness.  The brains bred outa ya, trained to be docile and well-kept."  He gestured towards her.  "This is what 'appens when you don't allow yerself to express, savvy?  Ye get all flustered and start throwin' things."

"What does savvy mean?!" she screeched, looking about ready to start tugging on her hair and ripping it out in furious frustration.

"A few things," he said offhandedly.  "Now will yeh calm down and speak peacefully?  We're protectin' ya now.  Ye'll learn to get along with us."

"No!  You make me sick!  You probably enjoy watching women being raped and killed!  That first taste of it twelve years ago must have really whetted your whistle!"  

Enraged with this expletive, Michael stormed to the door.  Wrenching it open, he spat, "Ye _will learn to like us, love."_

"_I will never like pirates!"_

He glowered darkly at her, half in the room, half out in the corridor.  "Never," he growled irately, "say never."  And he stepped out into the hall, slamming the door so fiercely that it shook in the doorframe.  

Rachelle was left in near darkness, totally stunned, staring at the door, unable to think of a single word.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

I thought I'd be nice and post another chapter.  I'm being a bad, bad girl right now because I'm supposed to be writing out the recipes I'm doing for my exam (mon and wed).  And I'm supposed to write out my mise-en-place list.  Uh, basically that means prep, I guess.  So I'm being bad, but also kinda nice ":D  I'm posting a chappie, yay!  *listens for celebration . . . cricket, cricket.* Sweet.

Sukkumbus and the absent, semi-MIA Mika


	17. Chapter XVI – Sparrow

_Chapter XVI - Sparrow _

She shook uncontrollably in Cutthroats room.  For once she was glad for the noises of work coming from the captain's room, because that meant the man was too busy to come into his own room.  Sitting in darkness, hands clenched in her lap, her mind was frozen.

Having no idea what the passage of time was she couldn't judge when exactly there was a knock on the door.  It opened slowly, like the person was afraid to enter.

"Rachelle?"

She recognised that voice.  It jogged her head into working.  Lifting her face up to the meagre shaft of light shining from the corridor, from the few lanterns lit out there, she saw Thomas.

"Why are you here?" she wondered, voice soft, only a slight catch to it.

"Michael said that you were _very_ upset earlier.  You even went so far as to throw things."  He arched his brow.  "That is not very ladylike, and it worried him."

"He . . . he was worried?"

"Well, as worried as a scallywag such as himself could get," he replied with a teasing smile.  Rachelle couldn't stop herself and smiled right back, standing up.

"Why are you not coming in?"

"I wouldn't dare go inside . . . Come with me for a walk.  Would that be alright?"

She nodded and went to grab a parasol.

"You won't need that," he broke in quickly, "only the moon out now."

"Oh, okay."  She padded quietly over to the cabin boy and accepted his arm.  He shut the door behind them, then led her to the stairs and helped her up.  Once they were on deck, they had a leisurely stroll, walking about in silence because there was no need to talk.  Or in Rachelle's case, she couldn't talk, jaw glued shut.  Her mind, once again, had closed down.  She had no idea what to make of that Cutthroat fellow.

Commodore Norrington held his saucer in his left hand, lifting his bone china cup to his lips.  He sipped the fine tea, enjoying it strong, yet mellow taste.  It was delicious, it was divine - 

There was a lock of hair in his mug.  A bird fluttered by him, and perched up in a tree.  He looked around the outdoor gathering area, where many other soldiers were enjoying their tea time, then up at the bird in the tree beside him.  Glancing back down in his mug, he wrinkled his nose and picked the hair out with obvious distaste.  It was braided to keep from falling apart in flight he supposed.  It was probably pretty hair, but it was soaked and so he couldn't quite tell.

He noticed a ribbon on it.  It was red embroidered with gold.  Grabbing it so he could examine it more carefully, his blood ran cold.

"Clairington."  He looked up at the bird and saw more red.  The sparrow made a few birdcalls then fluttered off.

Clutching the hair and ribbon in his hand, he squeezed them slowly until his hand was a fist, and his knuckles were whiter than the rest of his skin, which was quite a feat.

"Jack Sparrow," he growled.  A few men turned in surprise and stared at him.  

"Jack Sparrow, my lord?"

"Jack Sparrow!" he screamed, jumping up, dropping his tea and saucer.  A maid rushed over and began cleaning it up, another one running off to fetch him a fresh cup.  "Jack Sparrow has my fiancée!"

One brave and very stupid soul either had enough guts or not near enough brains to quip, "Again?"

"Oi!  Jack!" a crewman shouted across the deck.

"Jacklyn," Michael murmured under his breath, making the men around him chuckle as loudly as they dared.  Anamaria glanced up at Michael as she continued working with them, a pleased smirk on her face.  She was only too happy that someone could goad the captain on without fear.  The group was clearing up excess rope, which sometimes took awhile because it had to be untangled, straightened, dried and wound so it wouldn't knot up.

Jack, not hearing the slight, looked avidly at who had called his name, hands on his hips.  

"Yer birdie's back!"

The sparrow, having been gone for a few days, fluttered over to Jack and perched on the wheel, between two of the spokes.  

"Didja give ol' Norrington my message?" he asked.  The bird cocked his head then gave off a short song.  Jack took that as a yes, ignoring Gibb's red face and near apoplexy, just at the side of his vision.  The captain's wide, intent eyes flew up when Monkey leapt on the wheel column and swiped at the sparrow.

He snarled and Monkey laughed and jumped onto his shoulder, stealing his hat.  Jack snatched it back and put it firmly on his head, lips drawn tightly.  It wasn't going to be long before the Commodore came along to fetch what was his.

This had become a dangerous game they were playing.  Some of the men had become irritable and wanted to dig into Rachelle.  But Michael had stopped them on every occasion.  Finally, facing more than half the crew ready to beat him to a pulp, Jack heard the most astounding use of logic.  His first mate was good, very good, to keep such a calm, clear head when about to be beaten in near mutiny.

"If we rape her and kill her," he said simply, "what happens when the Commodore comes?  We could," he said, swaggering and gesturing much like the captain, having picked up his habits over the past twelve years, "just do the bitch and throw her over."

This got cheers and a few more steps towards him.

"But if we did," he said, bravely stepping up to them, finger raised, looking as though in thought, "then the Commodore would kill every - single - one - of us," he said slowly, pointing to the men with each word, emphasising them.

"'E'll kill us anyway!"

At that Michael rolled his eyes.  "Ye bargain, halfwit!  The girl is un'armed, and we'll give her to them if they keep a respectable distance and don't touch us.  The second anyone makes a move, she gets raped and killed and it's on their conscience."  He put his hands on his hips and smiled.  "Git it?"

"So if we keep her alive," one pirate said slowly, trying to figure this out, "we 'ave a better change of facin' Norrington?"

"Precisely," the first mate said jauntily, shoving through them and back up to the deck.  On the stairs he paused and added, "She is raped or dies, he pulls out 'is whole bleeding fleet.  If she's safe, he'll be too happy to get her back to bother wit us."

Michael then hauled himself up on deck and went over to Jack.  They looked to each other smirking.

Pirates.

Jack knew that in theory Michael's plan would work.  But the Commodore and Jack had . . . a history.  And Norrington would do anything to get his hands on the captain of the Black Pearl.

He would go down in history for it, for capturing the incapturable Jack Sparrow - _Captain_ Jack Sparrow.  Well, granted, he _had_ been captured a few times, but he always _escaped_.  Surely that countered the Commodore's record, which said man would want rectified.  Also, it would be an additional benefit to get the ever-feared Cutthroat.  They were both in danger.

"Oi!  Jacklyn!  Are you sure ye don't wanna check yer pretty birdie fer heatstroke?!"

The captain glowered around the crew, eyes falling on Michael who was trying desperately not to fall in a heap, laughing.  It appeared the men around him, and Anamaria, felt the same way.  He snarled down at his guffawing crew, looking quite menacing and everyone's faces fell.  They went back about their business, except for Michael, who stared back, cool as could be.

A sudden, wicked idea came to Jack's mind right then, and his expression went completely evil.

"No, but if ye don't shut yer trap I'll switch yer pennyroyal with wormwood!"

Anamaria glanced up curiously, her head not moving, as Michael went deep red, looked around and continued to work in silence.  After all, the captain was always allowed to put in the last jibe.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Well, there's another hint-hint nudge-nudge say no more in here, but I doubt many people will find it . . . anyhoo, Mika is now officially MIA because I said so.  *Crosses her arms and looks firm.  Then starts bawling* I haven't heard from her in awhile and we haven't got together to write!  Whhhaaaaa!  . . . Okay, pathetic, I know.  *Whistles and walks away.* Hope you enjoyed this chappie.  Please show your enjoyment by reviewing :D  And I just made yummy cookies.  Mmm, yummy cookies . . . *Offers cookies to reviewers.*  

Sukkumbus and the absent(?) Mika


	18. Chapter XVII – The Gallows

_Chapter XVII – The Gallows_

Rachelle walked by the mainmast with Thomas on their daily stroll.  She seemed a lot more subdued; her perpetual tears by now had ended.  The crew supposed the walks helped air out her head – not to mention all the time she spent with the cabin boy.  Michael glanced at them before doing his duty by climbing the mast and watching for ships in the crows nest.  As he glanced at her, she turned and caught his eye.  Smiling, she gave him a little nod, and he found himself nodding with a smirk.  Shaking his head, wondering what was with her, but slightly pleased with the change – it was much easier to sleep without her and Monkey's shrieking, as well as her not trying to throw things at him any longer – he just let her change in demeanour slide.  Instead he concentrated on climbing the blasted mast with a telescope in his hand.  Like he and the other crewmembers had done many times before, he decided that "carefully" would be the method of choice.  And so carefully he climbed, slightly afraid of heights after his fall, but he thought that something like that would happen.  It would be pretty normal: fearing the thing that almost killed him.  But after enough times of forcing himself onto the masts, he was sure that the fear would dwindle then vanish altogether. 

Jack, as usual, was standing at the helm, eyes blank yet intense.  It had to be the kohl.  Or just the way he was.  He had to be the only person who could have that expression.  Although after years of being around Jack, many of his traits had osmosed to Michael.  And, he considered, two thirds of the way up the mast, taking a deep breath, that the strange "completely aware but nobody's home" expression had also come into his own repertoire.      

Peering out unto the sea with the telescope, once making it into the crow's-nest, Michael waited for any ships to appear on the horizon.  The captain seemed paranoid about certain, tall, white sailed ships.

Frankly, the first mate couldn't blame him.

Commodore Norrington looked out at sea as his ships clipped along.  They were going to find that damn Sparrow, come hell or high water!  And on the sea, that was no joke.  But he would search endlessly for his bride-to-be, and rescue her from the clutches of the wickedest man ever born.  And his reputed just-as-bad, first mate.  Cutthroat, the lad's name was, for he was barely a man yet and had a reputation so sordid it made even the most hardened soldier cringe.  Jack Sparrow and Cutthroat, two of the worst pirates ever, two of the worst _humans_ ever, and they worked together.

Everything seemed to come in pairs.  Funny that. 

"What are our orders, sir?" a young troop said, gasping for air as he saluted, standing as straight as possible.  He had just run across the ship and in this uniform, with this heat, it was not fun.

"The pirates are expendable," Norrington snarled, balling up his fists again, knuckles going white, "I don not care about them.  But Jack Sparrow and Cutthroat are to be brought on shore _alive_.  I will show that they can no longer escape the law, and make a spectacle of them!  That I finally caught those blasted buggers!"

The solder bowed slightly, looking a tad uneasy, then ran off.  A few strides away, he stopped, turned and asked:

"And your fiancée, sir?"

The Commodore went slightly red.  "Save her you blundering fool."

Bowing again, the young man resumed his run across deck.

"Sir!"

Jack looked up at Michael in the crow's-nest.  Lifting his hand up to his eyes, sneering as he squinted, he yelled back.

"What?"

"I see . . . I see a ship . . . I see ship_s_, Jack!"  He turned and grabbed onto a rope, brought it up into the nest and swung down onto deck, the telescope under his arm.  He handed it to the captain, whose face had toughened, eyes dark.

"The British fleets?"

"None other than, Jack."  Michael looked slightly worried.  "We know they're comin' fer the girl, but I just worry about what they're gonna do . . . they're gonna decimate us, aren't they?"

Shrugging, Jack idly tossed the telescope from one hand to the other.  

"We _can_ out run them, cap'n."

Jack didn't move, save for the tossing from hand to hand.  His eyes were vacant, staring off in the distance, his mouth drawn tight in determination.

"No," he said slowly, "they'll hound us till the day we die."

"Today could be that day captain!" Michael shouted, his voice high.  

His dark brows rose slowly.  Then his eyes moved to study his first mate.  "Ye forget yerself, lad.  I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow."  Seeing that his first mate had an unimpressed expression, he tacked on: "How many bloody times have we bested the English?"

"Numerous times," Michael articulated, face and stance changing into something a bit surer.  Then he elaborated: "For the past twelve years."

"And why can't we do it now?"  The captain snickered and tossed the telescope back, Michael blundering, having to think fast, and nearly dropping it.

"But cap –"

"And I thought ye woulda trusted yer own logic."

Frowning at the captain, all Michael could do was nod, then call for all hands on deck.

"Wonderful plan Jack!" Michael roared from inside their cell, gesticulating wildly.  He was standing, pacing, while the captain sat placidly in the corner, one leg bent, foot tucked under the knee of his outstretched leg.

He twirled his knife a few times, gazing up at his first mate, waiting for him to get it.  Finally he indulged him and explained: "And do ye notice any of our crew in here with us, matie?"

Michael's mouth opened as he raised his finger, then his jaw dropped.  The captain was absolutely correct.  They were the only ones of their ship hauled into captivity.

"You're brilliant or completely insane!" he finally cried, grabbing the bars and shaking himself on them, wanting _out_.

"Amazing how the two coincide," he said with a smirk.

Turning about, Michael and Jack were instantly locked in a glare.

"Ye may have well killed us both!"

"Ah, but the Pearl is safe, and our men out in the crowd."  Snickering; "Seems that ol' Norrington forgot about keeping them captured in his excitement to get us."

"Ye have a plan, don't ye," Michael said slowly, studying his captain with a suspicious stare.  He knew Jack too well.  There had to be something going through that crazy mind of his.

He shrugged.  "Something usually comes along."

"Something!" the younger man sputtered, throwing his hands in the air and stomping about, "something usually comes along?!"  He was, by this time, screaming at the ceiling, as if the Gods could hear him better.

"I think that's what I said, aye."

Nearly shaking in frustration and rage towards Jack's completely composed conduct, he spun around, and crossed his arms, seething.

Soon they heard a clanking and some people marching their way.  A soldier unlocked the door and four more entered the cell, putting shackles on both pirate's wrists.  Jack went along with his two guards, looking bored.  Michael, however, fought with all his might, having to be lifted up as he struggled for most of the walk, so he wouldn't get away.

A huge crowd had gathered around the gallows and Jack mounted it, gazing up at the noose like it was an old friend and also like he had never seen one before.  Again, another expression only he could manage.  His hands hung down and he stood in a relaxed stance, weight more on one leg than the other.

Michael, however, was still struggling as the troops forced him up onto the gallows.  The one holding him was struggling just as hard to keep his hold.  Arching his back, he lifted the large man up onto the platform and followed, stepping up.  Jack looked at his still struggling companion almost questioningly then returned his bored stare to the crowd and noose.

There was a ripping sound in the midst of the struggling grunts and cries.  The crowd and guards about the gallows glanced around the area, trying to find the source.   Michael let out a battle shriek, trying to struggle free of his captor, tatters of his clothing in the guard's hands.  His clothes were suddenly and almost completely reduced to shreds.  The soldier he had struggled with had caught onto some cloth – from the first layer, no less, hanging out just under his shirts – and pulled, trying to keep the pirate under control.  

Feeling cool air on his skin, something he was unaccustomed to, and the ripping and flapping of free cloth finally settling in his mind, Michael stood on shaky feet.  His kohled eyes swept down his own frame, taking it all in.  Everyone, including Michael, gasped.  A few people fainted, and not only the women.

Jack glanced over at the woman standing beside him, ready to be hanged.

"Well, love, ye ready to go?" he asked calmly.  Then he noticed most of the men staring at her barely covered breasts under the tatters of her shirt.  "Cover yer eyes!" he snarled and half the crowd did just that.  Michael . . . or whatever her name was, wasn't red, she wasn't even enraged.  She, like everyone else, was so shocked over what happened she just trembled.

"Love?" Jack murmured.  Turning her head around, she faced him, wide eyed.  Then she glanced out at the crowd, life coming to her face.  Leaning towards the Pearl in the port, she nudged her head in that direction.  Jack not getting it, she lifted her hand up and pointed as she jerked herself towards it.  Now understanding, a grin lit up his face and he leapt down.  The shock had given him enough time to jump and make his escape without anyone reacting.  He was able to gather the pirates who had avoided capture because of Norrington's zeal to get Rachelle back and to hang Jack and Michael, before anyone realised what exactly was happening.

She watched as the men leapt onto the Pearl and began sailing away.  Looking at the guards as they started to approach her, the crowd coming back to life, she leapt down and ran through the throng of people.  Not knowing what to do: she was a woman, but the pirate branding on her arm along with the tattoos clearly said she _was_ Cutthroat, they just let her run.

Diving into the water, wrists still bound, she thanked her lucky stars that she was one hell of a swimmer.  She made it to the ship just before it started off at a good pace and clambered up the rope dangling over the edge as far as she could go.  The men, also in shock, just pulled her up.  She was still the first mate and she wasn't about to drown.

Walking to the stern, she heard someone yell:

"Thanks for taking me, Jennifer!  I can't swim!"

"Learn!" she roared back.

"Learn?!  How?!"

She had to cup her hands around her mouth so Rachelle on the shore could hear her.  But at this point she was surrounded by at least twenty soldiers.

"_Get in the water, move your arms and legs, and keep your head above the water!  If your head goes in the water DON'T BREATHE!_"

Although she could hear her friend's voice, she couldn't hear the exact words.  She thought it may have been "Thanks a lot!" but that was a bit indignant, wasn't it?

Then a clear voice bellowed, "I'll get you Jack Sparrow!"

And at the same time, both Jack and Jennifer shouted back, hands cupping their mouths, "_That's CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow!_"

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Well, now we all know the truth eh :D  Er, about Rachelle and her makeup, well, we meant it as in "natural, barely perceptible" like that face stuff girls wear . . . to make herself paler . . . because isn't that what women of that time did?; something suitable for a young lady.  And she doesn't become a pirate.

Oh!  And Mika is back!  She's off school now, and she's probably coming over YAY!  And we actually just finished talking on the phone . . . So Mika's no longer MIA, and we're gonna be writing more soon!

YAY!

Er . . . hmm, thanks for the reviews and such guys.  Keep reviewing and enjoying, and we'll keep writing and posting :D

Sukkumbus and Mika


	19. Chapter XVIII – Safe Now

_Chapter XVIII – Safe Now_

The sitting room was an intimate affair, the walls a creamy, light gold-brown. Of course that was underneath all the things that covered the walls. Tapestries, paintings, knickknacks, all sorts of items. It was so crowded and so fashionable it was almost garish.

Welcome back to high-society. At least it didn't smell like the ship. The room had a pleasant smell, natural and sweet. There were flowers in vases all around the room, still fresh. Along with the smell of cakes; they had just been brought into the room, and put on the small table before Rachelle and Norrington. Peering down at them, quite famished, she was glad to see something that was not potentially half-rotten. She moved back when her tea arrived, her dog scurrying about her legs, trying to avoid the maid.

"My dear," Norrington said softly as he lifted up his tea in the proper manner.

She glanced at him across the table curiously, then straightened up and took her own drink, surprised at how she was acting. More like a child than a lady.

"Sir?" she responded, daintily putting her saucer down and picking up a biscuit in the proper, polite way. She took a few sips of tea then put the cup onto its fine saucer. Taking a small bite of the dainty food, she smiled at the Commodore then whipped out her handkerchief to capture any crumbs.

"I feel dreadful for what happened to you." He leaned over and took her hand gently, looking very concerned. "I would do anything to protect you, to rid the seas of pirates."

"Oh, well," Rachelle tittered, taking her hand back, "that really is not –"

"I can only imagine what they did to you," he said with a shudder, grasping his own handkerchief. "Two of our finest ships, filled with our finest soldiers, and Jack Sparrow still manages to fight them both."

Rachelle cleared her throat. "I think that's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

They both froze and she sank down in her seat slightly, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Well," she squeaked, "it is."

"What they must have done to you," he lamented, daubing at his eyes. "My poor dear, you must be quite worn out from your lengthy ordeal." He started to get up, looking for a servant.

"No!" Rachelle cried, putting her hand out to stop him, crumbs from her handkerchief flying all over the little table. Her eyes were wide and pleading. If they were going to stick her in one more room with a bed, she would go _insane_.

The Commodore sat back down very slowly.

"I, I feel we should speak about this," Rachelle said, putting her crumpet down and twisting her handkerchief in her hands.

"You would care to know what course of action I will take with those, those . . . _animals_?" he wondered.

She opened her mouth to argue that that had _not_ been what she meant, but he either didn't notice, or didn't care. He just continued on his own tangent.

"The whole crew will be hanged. No mercy this time." He glanced away, balling his fist. Who was to know that in his longing to kill the two head pirates and get his bride safely ashore, that he had completely overlooked the rest of the crew? No, to the public, he would say he had been _merciful_.

"But they really did not –"

"They are pirates! Even if they did not commit a crime this time, they surely have before! And being a pirate is enough of a crime." He looked back at Rachelle who seemed slightly panicked. "My dear, I do apologise for my tone and anger. But this subject brings the worst out of me. I hate pirates. Loathe them even."

"I . . . I see." She gave him a weak smile and carefully reached for her tea, taking a few more sips. At that moment, Jennifer lifted her little paws up onto the low table, her nose then whole head following. She then grabbed one of the biscuits and slunk away with her prize. Rachelle noticed, but Norrington seemed to be ignorant of the dog's robbery.

"Perhaps Jack Sparrow and Cutthroat should be hanged as a warning to all? To have them hanged with their crew is just not befitting. And who better than pirates we all fear to warn the rest?"

Rachelle felt a tightening in her chest. Her tea rattled slightly in the saucer.

"Again, I forget that as a lady of class you have not been exposed to those sorts of thoughts."

Her eyes went up to his, her hand fluttering to her chest. She sat back, breathing heavily. This wasn't right.

"Rachelle? Are you alright?"

"Oh ah, yes, fine." She waved her handkerchief before her face, "Just a bit faint."

"We really should not be discussing this. We should be discussing our wedding." Here he smiled brilliantly at her. "Pirates are my business, and you'll just have to trust me to take care of them. You are far too delicate a lady to have even been near pirates – you should not dwell on them."

_Too delicate a lady?__ What about Jennifer?_ She watched Norrington's mouth move and nodded her head every so often, giving the appearance of listening. But she was deep in thought. No matter what Cutthroat looked like, he – _she_, was still a woman. And _her_ delicateness didn't seem to ever affect her. In fact, she was anything but delicate. How was that fair? Her best friend fought and killed and drank (and perhaps did other things, but her mind wouldn't allow her to even consider it) with pirates –

And here Rachelle was, not even allowed to talk about them, because of her "delicate constitution". Because _she_ was a lady.

But wow. Michael was really Jennifer? She had bothered him so many times and he always denied who he really was. Who she really was. Damn this was becoming confusing. How did he – _she_ know the story of her own supposed death? How had she been able to lie, to use that story to prove who she supposedly was, hiding the truth, even from her best friend!

One odd thing though, was that Jack did not seem shocked at all to see he was beside a woman on the gallows. She pondered that for awhile. Then again, nothing much seemed to faze that man. He was as crazy as they said, somehow both the worst and best pirate in the world, at the same time.

But Michael – Jennifer! Had lied to her. Told her best friend, point blank, that she had seen herself raped, had seen herself thrown overboard. Stolen the pearl off the girl. She had never stolen it; she just needed a cover story. But why didn't she explain the truth to Rachelle?

She just couldn't understand it!

Now her future husband was discussing how he was going to kill Cutthroat. Her best friend whom she had just got back. She was alive! She was strong and powerful. Rachelle could not just let her die.

"And would that be okay, my dear?"

Rachelle jumped slightly in her chair, life lighting her eyes as she looked to Norrington.

"Oh, um," she cleared her throat, "it will take quite a bit of planning, I am sure, so perhaps we can go over the important details again later," here she patted her forehead with her handkerchief, "when I am not so light headed."

He nodded caringly and stood up. A few steps and he was standing before her, then bent over. Her eyes met his, and soon his mouth was locked onto hers.

She drew in a sharp breath of air through her nose, staring at him in shock. He backed away from her seconds later then left the room. She furrowed her brows and touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. Speeding out from under an unoccupied chair, finished her treat, Jennifer cocked her head up at her mistress.

Rachelle had felt nothing. And it puzzled her.

S: gee, sorry the last chapter was so confusing oo; Well, if you didn't get it, to clarify, yes, Michael is Jennifer, Rachelle's old friend. Rachelle was "safe" with the English and Michael has more than one layer of clothing. Though he had some shirts off, he still had clothes on, though not as many layers as usual. Coupled with the breast binding, it made it look like he was flat.

So yeah . . . there's still more of this story to go before the sequel, if that ever gets finished . . .


	20. Chapter XIX – The First Mate

_Chapter XIX – The First Mate_

Jennifer sat at the edge of the ship, against the bulwark near the bow. She had her knife out and was trying to unlock her restraints. After a few grumbled curses and frustrated screams, Jack stood from the group at the mainmast – the rest of the crew, talking about how Michael was really a girl – and went over.

Anamaria said she had the feeling all along. A few things had tipped her off, like the pennyroyal comment, or the fact that Cutthroat's chest was already bound up when she had to bind his ribs, but she was never quite sure.

"Ye need free, love?"

She glowered up at Jack. "Aye. _Now_."

Smirking he grabbed her arm and helped her onto her knees, then put her hands on either side of the bulwark so the chain was on the gunwale. He began hacking at it and the chain finally broke. Now, like the captain, she had wristlets.

"Nice, Jack." She sat on the edge this time and resumed picking at the locks.

"When yer done, love, could ye consider gettin' mine off me?" He held up his hands and she just nodded, not bothering to look.

Leaning over, he whispered in her ear while squeezing her thigh, "Thanks, love." Then he walked back over to the group, who were still discussing the female Michael situation.

Hearing them speak about her, she tried to keep her anger down. She had nothing to defend. She hadn't done anything wrong, she had only done her job, only lived her life as she could. Still they wondered how a weak female was able to fool them for so long, but that didn't bother her. Anamaria could set them straight on that one away.

She heard a click in one of the shackles and she pulled it free. Now for the hard part, getting the right one off. Working diligently, she kept her ears open, wondering what other codswallop they would spew.

"'Ow could a woman run a ship?"

"I don't know," Jack said calmly, picking at his nails with his knife, "but she did."

"An' 'ow did she fight all those men – she's too weak!"

"I don't know, but she did."

"A woman just does not act like that!" The crewmate quickly looked to Anamaria, whose hand was slowly going to her cutlass, and nodded. "'Cept ye, o'course, Ana."

"I don't know, but she does." Jack looked around at them all, knife still going as a smirk appeared on his mouth. His dark eyes scanned them all. "Yer all thick as mules. She's always been a woman, always done those things as a woman. Jus' because ye've never known, doesna make her a man and it doesna change who she is."

Looking over when he heard another clatter, Jack leapt up. He strode over, leaving the pirates to look to one another and to deal with a virtually fuming Anamaria.

"Got yerself free than, lovey?"

She looked up just as he leaned over. His hands clamped her waist, and she could feel his nose down her cheek and nearly feel his intense eyes peering into her head.

He faced her, nose to nose, his forehead pressed to hers. Hands moving from her waist, they appeared before her.

"Well," he said softly, in a nearly mocking tone, "get to work then, love."

She glared at him, but grabbed his wrist, digging at the lock.

"Easy there love," he said as the metal dug into his arm. A few minutes of struggle later and both the captain's hands were free. He flexed them a few times, then looked to his first mate. "Ye gonna sit?" he wondered, gesturing over.

"Nay," she growled, sliding down the side of the ship, crossing her arms. "I'm just a weak female, remember?"

Giving her a look, he returned to the group.

"Monkey!" they heard her roar, and Monkey came scampering over, leaping on his master's shoulder.

The group of pirates were still befuddled and uneasy by the events the day before. It was like Michael and Jennifer were two different people to them, separated by that one rip of clothing. The binding on her breasts had been torn, taking along with it her beat up clothes from fights, exposing her for what she really was. She had been a woman the whole time, fooling them.

This registered with some of them, and they realised she was still branded, still tattooed. Still scarred, tanned and the first mate. She wasn't a different person, and never had been. She was just herself, _dressing_ as a man to be accepted. But most of the men there couldn't realise this. Jennifer was a woman, and they wanted their Cutthroat back.

"I think we shoul' jus' git rid of her," one pirate whispered. A second later, a knife imbedded itself in the mast right above his head. He peered up meekly, recognising it at Cutthroat's knife. They all looked over and there he was sneering at them. There _she_ was. No different from the past year they had known him. Her.

Jack stood and took the knife out of his ship, then put it away to give back to Jennifer later.

"I'm sure," the captain said calmly, looking out at them, hand on his hip, "that she woul' gladly take ye all on. And slit every onea yer throats."

The group put their hands to their windpipes and slowly rubbed in consideration at Jack's words.

"But she kept a _woman_ in 'er room," one mumbled. "Tha, tha's disgustin'!"

Jennifer didn't care much about defending herself, but when it came to her best friend, well, she had to. She stood to her full height of six foot, one of the reasons why she was never suspected of being a woman, and strode over to the pirates. Her muscles rippled, her scarred face stern, gaze intent. Her blonde, dreaded hair hung about her, fresh clothes tight to her firm body. She, like the others, was as bronzed as could be. Her rough hands shot out and she lifted the pirate right off the deck, bringing him to eye-level. Then he was slammed against the mast, her breath fanning on his face, eyes blazing.

"Repeat what ye said," she snarled, fingers tightening around her crewmate's clothes.

"Ye," he squeaked, then cleared his throat, "ye kept a woman in yer room!"

"And?"

"What did ye do with 'er! Ye were sleepin' wit 'er!" A few men looked curious, some understood the implications of a statement like that, and the others couldn't understand why he was so disgusted by it – some for different reasons than the others.

Jack stepped over, eyes narrowed. "Cutthroat sleeps with _me_."

The whole crew was immobilised, immediately understanding what _that_ meant. They _what!_ And so then how long had the captain known? They all looked up at the brutally powerful pirate-woman standing with one of their men crushed against the mainmast. Knowing she was female they noticed that a few of her features were slightly feminine . . . But not knowing you would have never guessed. Except her hips (which gave her that cocky pirate swagger) she was lean and built like a boy. A scarred up, run-through-the-mill-multiple-times pretty boy, but built like one nonetheless.

A flush of pride went through at least half of them as they watched her body heave in anger. The pirate looking up at her could also see her features distorted in fury, looking about ready to attack.

"I am," she said slowly, in a deep, rasping voice, slamming the pirate against the mast with each groups of words, "the first mate, of this here, ship. If ye dunna like it, ye can _dance wit me knife!_"

"C-Cutthroat sir," he mumbled, "I, I . . ."

Disgusted, lip curling in obvious distaste, she dropped him to the deck. Whipping around, grabbing her knife off Jack as he handed it out to her, she spat:

"If ye want any reminders to my name, I'll be more than happy to gie them to yeh!"

The group gulped at the same time, except Anamaria, whose eyes glimmered with what seemed to be pride.

"No takers?" she growled, tossing her knife from one had to the other, walking around the group.

"But what do we call ye now, m-m –" He was stopped from saying "ma'am" by Jennifer sliding across the circle to him on her knees, knife outstretched. The tip pressed into his skin, but didn't break it.

"Ye say that word, I'll kill ye here and now, matie. Sir and Cutthroat are the only ways ye'll address me," she gave him a vicious sneer, lone gold tooth flashing, "savvy?"

He breathed heavily through his nose, eyes wide and made an attempt to nod.

She cocked her head and grinned wickedly, showing a few more gold teeth of her own. "Good." Standing, she brushed her hands off, then stood by the captain. They stood in nearly identical stances, a force to be reckoned with. The men slowly heaved themselves up off the deck, feeling that this was over. They mumbled to each other as they left, most heading down into the hull to sleep, but a few others taking their night-time positions.

Jack and Jennifer looked at each other, both heatedly nonplussed by the reactions of their men.

Then he reached up and patted his first mate's shoulder.

"Dunna worry, love. After the next fight they'll be singin' yer praises." A slight gleam in his eye, he said; "They just need to see ye in _action_ . . . savvy?"

She smirked back. "Perfectly, Jack."


End file.
